urban landscape

Art Photograph – Narrow Alley

April 27, 2014 By Nicky Jameson

Narrow Alley – Do You See What I See?

Part of the photographer’s art is to put you where they were when a photograph was being taken. Too often people think that an art print is ‘just’ an art print, and admittedly sometimes that is purely the case, however there is often more to a picture than just a visual representation of whatever the photographer chose to capture.

When you see a photograph, you are actually – when you think about it – entering the head of the photographer at the moment they are taking the photograph. You are seeing what they were seeing. If I am not explaining that very well, try and think of the film “Being John Malkovich.”

So, it’s quite a privilege to be allowed to share a moment of vision with somebody, but sometimes there’s more to the experience than just seeing that same as the photographer – the real skill sometimes with being a photographer is getting people to feel what you were feeling at the time that you took the picture.

To illustrate this point, I’ve chosen this art photograph of mine called ‘Narrow Alley’ – as you can see, it’s all lines and perspective leading towards a door at the end of the alley in front of which is a mound of piled up snow. I almost walked right past the alley, it was so unmemorable. I’m not sure what it was that made me stop and go back. But I did. And, if I’ve been successful and have achieved what I set out to achieve, then you’re experiencing much more than seeing ‘something’ – can you not ‘feel’ the narrowness of the alley? Are your shoulders not tingling with the sense of being closed in? Do they not feel that if you were to continue down the alley you would do so with the threat of bumping your shoulders against the brick work? Do you feel hemmed in, closed in and compacted?

If you do feel this, then I’ve been successful, and isn’t it interesting how one sense (vision), can, by association trigger another (touch), when there is nothing actually physically there to trigger it?

Of course this is not the only occasion where seeing can trigger an associated sense – how many times have you started salivating upon seeing a photograph of a large, juicy steak (unless you’re a vegetarian of course!)?

Our old friend Ansel Adams once said:

“No man has the right to dictate what other men should perceive, create or produce, but all should be encouraged to reveal themselves, their perceptions and emotions, and to build confidence in the creative spirit.”

I think that’s a wonderful quote. We are all very different beings and all have rights to our own perceptions and the emotions those perceptions create. I’m always puzzled by how heated people can become if someone doesn’t like the same film as them, or dislikes their favourite bands, trashes their favourite book or even (since we’re talking about photography) uses a different photography technique to create their art. How dull the world would become if everybody reacted in exactly the same way to every aspect of human existence. Variety is the spice of life, and any meal without even the merest whiff of spice or flavouring is pretty unsavoury.

People having the same perception of a photograph (in this case feeling the same claustrophobic nature of this narrow alley that I did even though they were no there) enhances that shared that shared experience that photography offers. It’s like we are co-creators of the same story even as the additional perspectives viewers will add to and build that story, as if we’re all standing there in the same scene. That it can happen with my shot of an unnamed unimportant grungy narrow back alley is one of the many wonderful things photography offers that I continually seek out and enjoy.

Buy a print of Narrow Alley

Art Photograph – Vanishing Lines at Old Mill Station

April 20, 2014 By Nicky Jameson

Vanishing Lines, Old Mill Station

I like to think that every time I go out photographing, I’m embarking on a brand new adventure. If that sounds a little grandiose, don’t expect me to apologize. Photography is my passion and – just like a short story writer or novelist who looks at a blank sheet of paper and wonders what worlds and characters they can bring to life upon it – I go out within my local environment (in this case it’s the Old Mill Station) wondering what images and shots will present themselves to me for me to capture.

The American documentary photographer and photo-journalist Dorothea Lange once said:

“To know ahead of time what you’re looking for means you’re only photographing your own preconceptions, which is very limiting, and often false.”

I’ve thought a lot about this quote, and how it applies to me as an art photographer. After all, what is there is there, and it’s not really influenced by my thoughts and considerations. If I take a picture of, say, a building, how can my preconceptions limit how that building appears?

But then again, what I choose to shoot, and how I choose to shoot it is down to me.We can view an object in millions of different ways from millions of different angles, each of us with our own perception. So the way I decide to shoot a picture does come down to me – therefore I am the one in control. If I let my preconceptions govern that control, then they will surely influence the choice that I make.

Generally, I like to be relaxed yet focused in my approach to my photography, and I often feel rewarded when randomness brings a telling shot my way. I leave my preconceptions at home, and allow myself to be surprised by what I find. A few blog posts ago I wrote about my photo of Sugar Beach in winter and the way I was able to capture something that was completely out of the environment of which it had been designed for, as well as completely unexpected. Sugar Beach in Winter is one of my favourite art prints, and served as just reward for allowing the shot to come to me, rather than my going out and searching for it.

Take my shot above, which I’ve called ‘Vanishing Lines’. It’s a simple composition,taken inside the Old Mill Station here in Toronto. Railway tracks are synonymous with appearing to be endlessly parallel, and I wanted to compose a shot that used tracks as the basis of the focus, but incorporating other elements as well so give more of an effect. The man on the left of the photograph seems to be striding purposefully away, whilst the woman on the right is dithering. Perhaps these two people are complete strangers … but just maybe they are a couple who have just broken up, and now a barrier exists between them, just like the barrier of the tracks between the platforms. The man seems comfortable with the separation, but perhaps the woman is hurriedly texting her best friend to tell her the bad news.

Of course, this may all just be in my imagination, and the pair are complete strangers after all, The man had most likely alighted from a train that had just left the platform, while the girl was probably waiting for her train. However if I had waited and used my preconception of thinking the shot would have looked better without people in it, I never would have captured this possibility.

As Dorothy Lange says, when we absolve ourselves of our preconceptions, we allow ourselves the opportunity of encountering true beauty in the most unexpected of places. That’s why I allow photography to fuel my heart, and it’s my heart that I follow. Doing this always seems to lead me towards making some truly wonderful discoveries.

Like this art photograph? Buy a print here.

View the colour version of Vanishing Lines – Old Mill Station.

Morning on Baldwin Street

April 6, 2014 By Nicky Jameson

BALDWIN STREET KENSINGTON MARKET

As a Fine art photographer, I always strive to capture the unusual. Sometimes, the unusual aspect of a composition is hidden in plain sight – such as my recent photographs of beaches and the Toronto Harbourfront covered by the invasion of this year’s excessively bleak winter.

Other times, the unusual quality of an art print is not so readily apparent, and such prints conceal stories beneath what you can see, or display something familiar in a way that people who are accustomed to the subject of the shot will look at and be surprised to see it displayed in a way that’s unfamiliar to them.

This is one of my reasons for composing this art photograph of Baldwin Street in Kensington Market, here in Toronto. There seems to be such a sense of bleakness about this shot – it being in monochrome helps that, of course. Everywhere you look you seem to see gloom and emptiness – the lone figure on the right walking towards you; what appears to be a broken neon sign in the top right-hand corner, the sign on the left announcing “No Entry”. Even what you can see of the sky is just a big grey cloud bearing down on you.

The most delicious aspect of this art composition is the story behind it – and it’s a story that will only be readily apparent to those who are familiar with Baldwin Street, as the street is usually one that is extremely busy. I was out early one Sunday morning when I found myself walking down Baldwin Street with almost no one else around. I quickly jumped into the road (checking for cars first!), spent a few moments obtaining the correct composition, then took the picture. While my initial intention had been to wait for the guy walking towards me to pass by me (so as to get an almost empty street) while composing the shot I decided it would work better with him in it. So I was pleased I managed to capture him walking on the right as I feel it gives the shot that one tiny aspect of character that’s really important.

To illustrate the point I’m trying to make, I’ve chosen the following quotation by the American photographer Ralph Gibson:

“Even though fixed in time, a photograph evokes as much feeling as that which comes from music or dance. Whatever the mode – from the snapshot to the decisive moment to multi-media montage – the intent and purpose of photography is to render in visual terms feelings and experiences that often elude the ability of words to describe. In any case, the eyes have it, and the imagination will always soar farther than was expected.”

Words may help to create pictures, but a photograph is a picture, and most of the time a picture is much stronger than words. Sometimes though, it’s hard to capture the precise aspect of what you are trying to capture as a photographer, as both the moment and the opportunity have to be there. With words, you can create anything as you leave it to the imagination of the reader to conjure the image. I could have described Baldwin Street as an abandoned thoroughfare, but hardly anyone would be able to picture it in precise detail. This is why the photograph on this occasion surpasses any image that words could convey, and I was pleased I was there to snag the opportune moment.

This is what continues to makes photography such an exciting pastime and profession for me. There is no limit to what my camera can capture. The world is full of moments – some apparent, some quirky, some unexpected … there really are no limits, and it’s my joy to be able to share them with people who appreciate everything that even the simplest image can portray.