The Art of Seeing

Text and Photography by Willis Peterson If your outdoor photographs seem to lack something, but you can't quite put your finger on it, chances are it's not the fault of your camera or film but your way of seeing. In this excerpt from his latest book The Glory of Nature's Form, the author, an outdoor photographer for 30 years, and head of the Department of Photography at Glendale Communty College, makes suggestions on how to see things through the camera viewfinder so that the end result will be a pleasing photographic image. It all begins, he says, with the art of seeing.

The nostalgic and romanticized appeal of nature photography has brought literally a legion of new photographers into the wilds. This has happened within the last few years. When I started out upon the outdoor, free-lance trail there were only a few professionals. We would often meet on location; Yellowstone, Alaska, Canada, wherever the seasons dictated action in that area. We were a special breed of photographers, bent on making the very best of images for our various publications. We would often coffee together in the evening around our camps and tell innumerable funny, sometimes harrowing tales about our encounters with wild animals. There was solid shoptalk, too, and we learned a lot from each other. But when we were on location, we were fiercely competitive, because it was our talent, our artistic skill and technical know-how that would pay the bill. In the newer outlook on nature photography there are still the active pros, but they are now far outnumbered by the sheer multitude of camera fans that are also involved in outdoor activities. But regardless of the objectives, be it only a few hours interlude in the park to perhaps a lengthy photographic examination of the wilderness, the urge is there, perhaps even an ancient urge, to communicate with the pantheon of nature. For a moment, all is forgotten. It is an adventure steeped in exhilaration. A bit of life is forever documented along with our own confrontation of self. It is an instant bond between ourselves and subject, for the act of making the image is a very introspective and personal one.

In this context of an unhurried environment, where one can find eternal truth, we hone our skill. We are borne out of our technological age, yet, at the same time, we have a longing to reaffirm an ecological awareness, to relate our sensitivity to nature. We are concerned with preserving nature's infinite ramifications for the rest of society to value.

All this creative effort is compounded when you consider no two photographers are ever going to see the same image exactly in the same manner. By repeated selection, by constant redefinition we seek an intimate concern with the essence of life. Considered in its entirety, nature photography does, indeed, have a tremendous influence on the artistic taste of society. Seeing an image is simply a matter of abstraction. The photographer should always ask himself: "Is this the simplest way to portray the subject?" Nine times out of ten, the simplest way is the most effective, and certainly, simplicity is elegance when handled in a creative manner.

A typical forest scene, for example, may have too many elements in the confines of the picture frame, perhaps too many trees, too many shadows, too many rocks, to be really effective as a communicative image.

The solution is easy. Select the most vital, the most vibrant portion of the picture arrangement. Thus, the whole imagery of forest may be reduced to a glistening droplet of dew clinging to a branch of pine needles, or mat of fallen leaves lying between the roots of an old stump, or clump of fungi creeping along a rotting log, or beam of light breaking through a filigree of leaves.

Any one of these approaches may tell the story or reveal the essence of a forest more poignantly than an overall view. The result is a selective and more powerful way of seeing. The same procedure is true in photographing other ramifications of nature. There are times, of course, when you simply cannot reduce your image to such a small vignette. Then your pictorial is of such vibrant strength and outstanding composition that such a procedure would water it down. The essence, then, becomes the whole scene and this, of course, is what you want to communicate.

Every nature portrayal or composition, as in any creative expression, must have a theme or a statement. Thus, through the statement the viewer can identify and find a point with which he can interact.

Consider that all plants and wild creatures are living in a mosaic of mood, color, form and design. And this composite interpretation of subject and environment is what we seek to relate in the image and to communicate through a composition.

Before shooting, I feel there are a few mental speculations which a photographer should consider. They are compositional exercises, or, more simply stated, how to employ more emphatic ways of seeing.

Visual perception is the key. For information, we rely more on our eyes than any other sensory organ. Using our eyes, we constantly probe, dissect and evaluate. The more we seek in visual meaning the better we transfer this process into a coherent pictorial statement.

To actually see infinity and then to try to photograph it requires special attention to the lighting conditions. The Badlands of South Dakota are vividly described with the judicious use of backlighting. The created highlights and shadow form a separation of planes.

The Goosenecks of the Colorado in Canyonlands are revealed by the crosslighting of early morning. Shadows in depths of the canyons provide a third-dimensional effect.

The hardwoods of the bayou are backlighted with early morning light, streaming between the trees in brilliant shafts. Each fallen leaf picks up a golden fringe from this camera angle. In a few minutes the mood will vanish.

I think one of the loveliest wildlife scenes I have ever photographed is this moose standing placidly in Wonder Lake at the base of Mt. McKinley, Alaska. The scene is three-quarters backlighted to bring out the animal form and the sheen of the water in the arctic evening.

The unrelenting pulse of the sea has created a coastline of spectacular proportion. This Cannon Beach, Oregon, scene is three-quarters backlighted to bring out the form of the waves against the scalloped beach.

Put another way, I dissect and rearrange the configuration of the composition to determine other viewpoints. I study them. I decide what I like best. In this way I discover how the magical set of elements combines to create the unity of the photograph, the design of the image or, in short, the composition.

Composition is an arrangement of space, a structure, a group of design elements that relate to one another. Thus, effective communication in a photograph demands that one must work with the design components at hand rather than follow preconceived rules, which may curtail any expanded way of seeing.

If you need to change emphasis in a picture structure, then the art of the matter is to change the angle of the camera to foreshorten the perspective. Or perhaps, it would be best to move closer, or perhaps a portion should be deleted, or an area added by backing off with the camera.

I use the viewfinder as a masking device to assess the composition. I probe the scene. I look for the limits of the composition, then I focus for needle sharpness, if the image demands such treatment. It is an exercise in discretionary viewing. It seems to me that many photographers never really understand this point.

Spacing of items is important. The picture should be composed so that the result is balanced. Dividing the proportion of space within the frame's format is best examined and experimented with by again moving and placing the camera at different angles.

For example, I balance one large object with smaller objects or shapes. A sense of dominance, or even tranquility can be achieved by balancing one picture area against another.

Using repetitive patterns is a good way to insure a sense of rhythm. Conflict in picture emphasis vanishes. Consequently, the effect is pleasing. There is a powerful sense of order to be derived from a repeated design.

I try to determine how perspective will influence the image. Linear and angular perspective can create a feeling of depth, an exploration for distance, a search for infinity.

Another method is to emphasize relative sizes. Consequently, the subjective mood of height and weight is easily felt, as well as space.

I take advantage of atmospheric disturbances such as haze, fog, dust and clouds when I can to indicate picture depth. Showing the difference in tonal values between receding planes in panoramic views produces a tremendous mood of distance and gives the composition a feeling of life.

This mood is particularly prevalent in a shot I took when my son and I were camping in the red rock country of northern Arizona.

We were hiking to Spider Rock in Canyon de Chelly. It had been raining, and I wanted to get to the overlook by sundown, since it seemed as though the weather might break. Just as we unpacked the view camera at the canyon's rim, the sun came out.

It was as though a pipe organ had sounded a fanfare. Two brilliant rainbows blossomed in the vast canyon below us, a beautiful, stupendous sight.

My son gasped. "Hey, Dad, you're a genius. How'd you know we'd have a rainbow?" I smiled back. "You've always got to be ready," I said.

In arranging the composition, the photographer must always be aware of negative space. Simply stated, it relates to shapes which surround the main subject. The main design and composition may not actually be the leaf, or the rock, or the animal, or whatever the photographer centers his viewfinder upon, but the area which surrounds the subject.

Composition, then, I should emphasize, is always a full and complete arrangement of space, including all design elements within a photographer's format.

While certainly not inclusive, these few functional ways to see and arrange a photographic image will enhance anybody's creative efforts in photography.

I must point out again, these thoughts are not rules, but only methods to gain better insight into a way of seeing.

Spanish Gold

two of her at The Arizona Museum in Phoenix.

The adventurous may want to explore more thoroughly but very carefully the next stretch of the Trail. Only a few miles north of Clifton, "glory holes" are visible on both sides of the road. These old diggings are largely overgrown today and therefore treacherous, but the telltale signs of ore can still be seen in the rocky cliffs. Hop out of the car and you're likely to see many gem-like specimens setting near the side of the road.

Treasures are plentiful in Greenlee County, but not the kind Coronado was looking for. Today, amateur and professional gem and mineral collectors find riches throughout the area. Fire agates, chalcedony roses and petrified wood, all are found around Duncan. Mulligan Peak, just five miles north of Clifton in Limestone Canyon, is known to rockhounds for its agates.

Back on the main road, we are about to come upon a spot that is the essence of Arizona. Not only is it educational and interesting, but it's also an awesome, beautiful site. It appears suddenly, huge the third largest copper mining operation in the world!

At Morenci, the Phelps-Dodge Corporation has built an observation point where visitors can view the working of the open pit mine. You'll see mountains move as an electric train traverses the colorful blue-turquoise-purple terraces of the pit to bring cars carrying several hundred tons of payload to the smel-ter. If a look over the top isn't enough to satisfy, guided tours of the mine are available in advance. Check at the concentrating plant at Morenci.

In the copper mine's peak years 1955-56 $105,646,000 worth of copper was mined there. Coronado surely would have gasped had he known he walked right over such wealth!

A short jaunt down the hill from Morenci is the now-sedate but once Wild West town of Clifton. Robert Metcalf and his brother were with a sheriff's posse in 1870, searching for a band of outlaws believed hiding in the canyon, when they discovered an outcropping of copper ore. They staked the first claim and later began work in earnest. The mining camp which resulted got its name from its location in the narrow confines of the San Francisco River bed. Cliff Town was later shortened to Clifton.

Tales of the early West have not been lost on Clifton. It had its share of rowdiness, Indian raids, bank and train robberies, and drunken brawls. One such brawl is particularly memorable. It seems the town's complaint of today was true in the 1870s, too. Clifton, being sandwiched between canyon walls as it is, has no place to grow. So when early settlers decided they needed a jail they called upon an enterprising citizen and gave him the job of locating the place of confinement. He proceeded to blast a jail out of the solid rock mountainside in the center of town. Having completed the jail, the builder was so proud of his accomplishment, and the pay he earned, that he toasted himself in a local saloon as the "world's greatest jail builder." Other townspeople failed to see the need for so much toasting and refused to join in his celebration, whereupon he promptly shot up the place and became the first occupant of his much-toasted quarters.

Clifton is a sleepy little town now, intent on keeping the peace and enjoying its prestige as the southern terminus of the scenic Coronado Trail.

And remember, whether you plan your trip beginning at Clifton or Springerville, set the date for June or January, it really matters very little. Because regardless of the direction or the time of the year, you are bound to find more than your share of treasure: from the golden leaves of autumn trees to the sparkling diamond dew on spring meadow grasses, and from the golden sun of warm summer days to the silver moonscapes of cold winter nights. It's all there waiting for you on Arizona's fabulous Coronado Trail.

Editor's note: Camping spots are abundant especially along the northern end of the Coronado Trail if you are truly prepared to do a bit of "roughing it." Gasoline and other vehicle services are scarce. So be sure your gas tank is full between Hannagan Meadow and Clifton, as stations are nonexistent in those 70 miles.

Aspen Chimes

Aspen Chimes turn wind to song. Melodies of golden notes dance in autumn's brittle air; then with a sudden twirl descend the scales, and whirl to the ground.

Aspen Chimes in shimmering nutrient pools link mother tree to mother earth - a dowry for spring's rebirth, when aspen emerald jewels will play their windchime song for another summer's season of sun.