The Philosophy of Photography

Anthony will be guest blogging for me for a few days. Enjoy the eccentric meanderings of Lisa V Lupo Photography’s most valued employee.

I don’t have a highfalutin conception of le artiste or art in general. If briefly studying aesthetics in graduate school taught me anything, it’s that art is best appreciated pre-theoretically, merely as an item that evokes an emotion or stirs the imagination. Post-modern art challenges this idea for the sake of it. Art about art, like the philosophy of philosophy (metaphilosophy), turns the subject on itself, and evaluates the system with the tools internal to that system of thought or expression. Of my few semi-original (ha!) philosophical thoughts, I’ve argued most passionately for the importance of stepping outside of a system of thought when evaluating it (specifically with respect to metaphilosopy). It seems like begging the question to me, but I more or less fell on my sword trying to prove it. After all, if I’m right, then it isn’t the sort of thing that can be proven in a way one would deem properly philosophical. 

If you find this sort of talk nauseating, like I do, then you would probably agree that explaining a philosophy of photography would kill the joy of photography itself. So from here on out, I will use ‘philosophy’ in the spirit of modern ‘pop philosophy’, for which there is a philosophy of everything (from The Simpsons to Radiohead). Without further ado, I present the philosophy of photography—an ultimately misleading title.  

If anything, this is more a way of approaching technologically-enabled art. Photography (film or digital), like many of the digital graphic arts, necessarily involves sophisticated technical apparatuses: camera bodies, lenses, printing equipment, flashes, etc. For this reason, photographers often feel limited by the equipment they possess. This can lead to Gear Acquisition Syndrome (GAS, as psychologists call it), according to which you need to buy and carry as much gear as possible in order to be prepared for every situation. This was the way I thought about photography for several years.

I bought my Mamiya on a whim. I wanted a healthy distraction— not another money suck. Given the constraints of my situation (shooting film in Afghanistan), I had to accept the fact that I would not have the equipment necessary for many shots (e.g. wide-angle, low-light flash photography, tripod long exposures, etc.). I inadvertently began to conceive of photography within the framework of what was possible given my equipment. This was truly a blessing in disguise.

Limitations force you to consider the unique strengths of the equipment you actually have. Limitations teach you to hunt for photographic situations that suit the equipment you have, rather than hunt through your bag to find the equipment that suits your situation. Limitations force you to consider a distinct set of compositional possibilities; in my case: the world through an 80mm f 2.8 lens on a 1975 M645 body w/ waist-level finder. Unlike before, I gladly pass-up photographical situations that I know would be awesome but require a kit I don’t have. I don’t even sweat it. Instead, I hunt for spots that work for me. They are out there, millions of them, if you train yourself to know where to look. 

There are a host of corollaries. Think exposure, for instance. I used to think that my photos were bad because I couldn’t nail the exposure, as if there was some magic setting I couldn’t find. Wrong. My photos were bad because the light was bad. Good images require good light (I do all my shooting now early in the morning, at sunset, or in even shade). The basic idea: I am limited by light. Light is a (if not the) photographic medium. Learning to work within limitations is the key.

Here’s where it gets quasi-philosophical. As I see it, limitations are a primary source of artistic inspiration, especially in photography. It is not being able to do something that makes one want to do it even more—the code we iconoclasts live by. It’s working within limitations that enables us to cognize a manageable space of possibilities from which to select and refine ideas. Total artistic freedom is a burden to everyone except the most genius of geniuses: the Individual that can navigate a space of infinite possibilities and select an optimum alternative. However, I (and most likely you also) cannot. 

It is for art as it is for society. Total freedom makes monsters of men. Society imposes some restrictions on what we may do, and, with the exception of the Individual, we are better for it. (How’s that for a fast-and-loose analogy?)

Here’s this idea spun into a common-sense theory. Seek to limit yourself to what you can handle at your level as a photographer. For amateurs: even if you have a wonderful second lens, do not put it in your bag. Keep it simple, for limitations will set you free. As you improve as a photographer, your ability to manage a large set of compositional possibilities will improve. More of the universe will fit in your head without spilling out your ears. The world’s best photographer (whoever you are, out there) carries more than just an 80mm f 2.8. The key is to limit oneself appropriately. Too much limitation will clip your proverbial wings, too much freedom will stymie your creative process.

As a general rule, people tend to overestimate what they can manage. I’m sure this belief stems from both personal experience and some deep-seeded philosophical premise about human nature. I’ll spare you that one.

Epilogue

Two quick points to follow. (1) Limiting oneself does not entail avoiding high-quality glass or bodies on principle. Limitation is about choice. A pro-quality 80mm f 2.8 does not open any more photographical possibilities than does an el-cheapo 80mm f 2.8. (Many pro-quality lenses feature larger apertures, which do offer additional compositional options— but this range of choice should be pretty manageable.) But a pro-quality lens will improve image sharpness and color, which is always a good thing. Whether it’s worth the cost is up to you, but even this ‘philosophy of photography’ won’t necessarily save you from GAS. (2) Don't you see how someone espousing this philosophy would be drawn to film photography? By the same token, if film is by default more limiting than digital, does this mean that digital photography is ultimately a greater medium of photography? I think so. So what? Film is fun and certainly dynamic enough to provide a world-class photographer more than enough compositional options (excluding, perhaps, low-light situations). Phooey.