Learning to see

—by Rich Bergenan
As one of the most democratic of the expressive media, photography has always struggled to find its footing among the visual arts. Whether in the hands of a skilled craftsman, an insightful artist or a serendipitous amateur, photography is perfectly capable of “capturing” a gorgeous sunset, an enchanting baby’s face, or an ironic moment.

But if just about anyone can do it, then what qualities elevate some images above the mob? That’s an old question that has never been answered adequately, but perhaps that’s because the question is flawed. The qualities that separate the common from the contemplative may not be in the image, but in the photographer.

As viewers, we often find ourselves satisfied with the surface qualities of an attractive image. It’s only every once in a while that we are struck by a photograph that seems to transcend subject matter. These transcendent images do more than skillfully mirror what was in front of the lens; rather, they are more like a window into the photographer’s soul, allowing the viewer to voyeuristically see through another’s eyes and with another’s sensibilities. These images are the result of neither good fortune nor following a formula. They are the result of following a muse. They are made, perhaps discovered is a better word, because the photographer has let go and allowed the camera to lead the way.

Jumping the hurdle from mirror to window is an important stage that aspiring picture makers must cross before their images can become un tethered from their subject matter. Ask a young photographer what his or her picture is “about,” and often you’ll hear a description of what the picture is “of.” It can take a photographer some time to understand why he or she is attracted to particular subject matter. An image of a leaf caught in a coil of barbed wire may “speak” to the photographer and lure him or her into pressing the shutter release, but exactly what it was saying can remain elusive, especially to the photographer.

I know from my own experience that photographers spend a lot of their lives in this searching stage. Many revel in the wonders of nature; others in the beauty of the common place- the play of light off the screen door, the ordered pattern of pots on the drain board, the glitter of the glass in a broken window pane. For me, the magnetic pull comes from places where people had once been but are no more. The vanishing remnants of habitation. Faced with a sublime clearing storm over Yosemite Valley, I’d instinctively look for an abandoned shack in the foreground and wait for the tour bus from New Jersey to pull out of the way (oblivious to its potential irony).

These instincts can be a powerful source of inspiration, as long as you don’t over-think them. There’s a danger in becoming too familiar with your muse-you can end up taking it for granted and embarking on a circular path, photographing and rephotographing the same idea, no longer discovering new things. As soon as you’re convinced that you’ve figured out what your “thing” is, you’ll be doomed to repeat it till you’re bored.

Photography can be rejuvenating and forever satisfying if you treat it as a quest of self-discovery. The pictures you make by trusting your eyes instead of your head will end up telling you something about yourself.

Everything you photograph this way ends up as a self-portrait of a metaphorical kind. Of course, it seems like eventually you’d finally be able to recognize the deep psychological roots of that instinct or intuition. But I have to admit that even after 20+ years of trying, I still don’t know for sure why the passage of man’s time on this earth appeals to me. Instead, I comfort myself with the admittedly convenient thought that it’s really about the journey, not the destination.

Ed. Note: Rich is a photographer whose work was featured in Volume. 2 Issue 2. He is a teacher of photography and journalism at Linn-Benton Community College in Albany and has been exhibited widely around the Northwest for the past 20 years. He is represented by Earthworks Gallery on the Central Coast and by Pegasus Gallery in Corvallis. His work can be seen at www.pegasusartgallery.com and www.photoartsguild.org.




Jerry Williams