VIEWFINDER

viewfinder Makers Versus Takers

I WAS SPEAKING TO A GROUP of photography students the other day and was asked about certain terminology that I used during my presentation. One student asked, "Why do you say, 'making photographs' and not 'taking photographs'?" Another participant weighed in, remembering childhood summer vacations, and "taking" family pictures. He asked, "How is your stuff different?" Well, the difference is really about the approach to the work. There is a wide expanse separating the concepts of "taking" photographs and "making" photographs. Photography is part technology and part raw creativity. It is a process as much as a finished product.

"Taking" photographs suggests pointing a camera set on automatic at a subject and releasing the shutter. More often than not, this renders an acceptable exposure, but rarely a creative or striking image.

"Making" photographs suggests observing a scene closely, discerning the direction and quality of light, elements to include and exclude and how those elements relate to each other. Framing, cropping and depth of field must be considered when making a photograph. Often, the timetable is not dictated by the photographer, but by the subject via light, mood or expression. Photographers-whether veteran or novice-benefit greatly by slowing down, getting to know the subject, and refraining from merely "taking" a photograph. It's a worthwhile process, and the more it's practiced, the easier it becomes-even to the point of being able to previsualize the desired images.

Back in the early 1990s, I was given an assignment to photograph monastics living in southern Arizona for Arizona Highways. While it would have been relatively simple to document the buildings with stained-glass windows, the true challenge was to say something meaningful about the monks' contemplative life without making it look like I had been an interruption. This was a world I knew almost nothing about, and from that naïve perspective, I realized that my only hope was to learn a great deal as quickly as I could.

I immersed myself in the study of Western contemplatives, then Eastern religions, then Christianity, Judaism and Buddhism. I listened to Gregorian chants while doing research and while driving to assignments.

I wondered, What made these people tick? Why were they willing to give up so many things to live so austerely? As my awareness grew, I began to set up appointments to visit monasteries that would allow me to observe and make photographs. I attended services, mass and vespers, and still my visual progress was slow.

Then, it happened. While wading through the writings of Thomas Merton, a Catholic monk, a single phrase arrested me completely. Merton wrote, "Ours is a journey within."

To me, that was it-so simple, yet so complete. By choice, these people have taken themselves out of the mainstream, insulated themselves, at times creating self-imposed barriers. After I latched onto this concept, I could use it almost like a theme to make images. Every photo would somehow isolate or put distance between my subject and me. Telephoto lenses became the instant tools of choice since the look they convey is one of separation, not intimacy.

When I arrived at Holy Trinity Monastery in St. David and quietly toured the property, I realized that all of my hard work was about to pay off. The monks strode silently around the grounds in full-length white robes, complete with cowls. The interior of the main chapel was bathed in soft indirect light defining the subtle textures of neutral gray columns. Somewhere in my mind's eye, I had already visualized an image, and all the elements were right there in front of me.

One photograph (above) became the opening spread for the story. Shot with a 180 mm telephoto lens, it allowed Brother Joseph his personal space-the privacy he had chosen. The indirect natural light that washed over him was from an open door on the north side of the church. On film, the cast rendered slightly blue, giving the space a sense of peace and solitude. With the exception of his face and glasses, the photo is monochromatic, the elements, simple-the mood, austere. The only sense of the outside world is the reflection of the courtyard in Brother Joseph's glasses, indicative of the journey within.

I don't always have the lead time or luxury to make images working on stories like this, but, for me, this photograph has become a benchmark. When I'm in a creative rut, I look back and remember the process of making this photograph and the others that accompanied it. Often, I get a little quieter, try to absorb what is around me, establish a sense of rhythm and I begin to "make" photographs.