I’m recently back from my contribution to The Center for Photographic Art’s annual Exposure Weekend. The event is 3 days of lectures, workshops, field-trips and portfolio reviews. This year I was again asked to do photographic critiques.
The CPA calls them “portfolio reviews” but I find that term confusing since for me a portfolio review is more like a job fair: the photographer goes with the hope of being discovered; the intent of finding work or perhaps an agent.
On the other hand, a critique is a critical artistic look at images with the aim providing advice to the photographer. Such advice varies from suggestions about future direction, to technical, such as cropping, sharpening, composition and so on.
The folks I saw ranged from a couple of seasoned photographers to several fresh-faced beginners.
The requests were quite different between the two, as you can imagine.
With old timers, it’s often related to digital issues, or over-sharpening. Surprising is how often it is cropping, or blocked-up blacks. We spend time looking at individual images with an eye as to how to improve the print and if the techniques used support the intent of the photographer.
For those just starting out, OTOH, the first thing I have to do is reassure them them “critique” doesn’t mean “criticism” but only “a detailed look.” They are invariably nervous, and arrive with some (false) sense that “my future depends on what I hear today.” Once they are dissuaded of that idea, we can begin.
As seasoned photographers yourselves, you can easily imagine the types of things I discuss with beginners, and while a lot of it is fundamental, a most important part is a gentle nudge along the lines where they show the most potential.
Back when I taught graduate students, the case was simply that most of them did not show a real aptitude for photography (which made those who did, all the more a delight.) However, among those young people who pony up several hundred dollars for a weekend, the odds of finding talent go -way- up, and I’ve been exposed to new visions and eager minds.
As you would expect, they don’t really know what they want from me, so I have to listen and watch and guide my advice accordingly. It’s sort of like dancing in a way: adjusting as we go along. Limited by a 30-minute time-slot, beginners with talent need encouragement as much as composition or technical advice.
But what is ultimately rewarding for me is when something I’ve said causes the light come on in their eyes.
Today, I helped on 20-something along the path toward environmental portraiture. She had a wonderful ability to capture expression at just the right moment.
But the one I’ll remember most easily was a new photographer who arrived with a portfolio of landscape and nature shots. She said she really want to know how to do landscapes, so I initially provided the usual bits about layering, depth, time of day and so on. She nodded and took it all in. Some of it even appeared to be new to her… but the light was still off in her eyes.
Then I said “Landscape photography isn’t about the landscape; it’s about you. If the image could have been taken by a robot camera with an interval timer, then it’s just a pretty picture. It becomes art when you realize that something attracted you to that scene. You see something that no one else does, and it speaks a message to your heart. Don’t just point and shoot. Move around. Crop. Include. Remove. Squat. Hide. Climb. When the viewfinder cleanly speaks that same message, click the shutter. Only then does it become your image; a part of your biography alone. Landscape photography is no more about landscapes than Weston’s work was about peppers.”
She had never heard that before, and I got to watch the light come on.
I love this job.