Words of Wisdom : Tread

Why use a fishing pole when you could just drain the pond? The answer, for a fisherman is quite an easy one…the fish itself, although important as an outcome, is only one part of the acting of “fishing.” There’s something to the actual act. When asked why I use a cheap, plastic toy camera to make photographs, I often think of this analogy. Like a fisherman who could be more successful doing away with a pole, I could do much more by ditching the control-hampered, plastic analog camera and film–and shoot with a digital camera. My exposure could be perfect every time, I could snap endless frames, I could edit the throwaways right on the spot. I could get home, open up PhotoShop and duplicate the look of Ansel Adams’s zone system or Paul Caponigro’s darkroom mastery or just make my shots look like they were shot with a Holga or Lomo. While I was at it, I could clone out the parts I don’t like, I could add or enhance the parts I do…I make my living in advertising, Hell, I first touched PhotoShop when it was once called Barneyscan XP, I’m old.

Nothing makes me want to punch a guy in face more than the argument that digital is better than analog. Of course it is, it had damned well better be better at the price point and technology offered by a good digital camera. What bothers me is the friggin’ argument at all. It’s all a giant pissing contest that demands to be won by those with the biggest bank account. Us film shooters, and particularly us toy camera folk understand the wonder of the act of photography is somehow still deeply rooted in mystery. Mystery is at the heart of my photo work. Blurry, imperfectly complex images revealing blurry, imperfectly complex emotion. Yes, emotion. Famed Japanese photographer Araki dubbed the lack of humidity and darkness in digital photography as a “dry brightness.”  The lack of imperfection, nothing too dark or too light robs photography of some emotion or “sentimentality” as Araki calls it. Does that mean there cannot be great images captured digitally, of course not. But using a toy camera makes my photography much less about my toolkit and much more about my subject and thankfully about me. I’m limited by lack of controls, I’m limited by the amount of light the box can take in, I’m limited by the weak shutter, the weak film advance. The possibility of mishaps like light leaks or processing errors is always there…all of these things give me a freedom with the camera to just look, snap, advance. But not in the brainless, point and shoot perfection that digital photography allows.

Perfection is so elusive that I’m never bogged down by the thought of it. I can’t look at a 3 inch screen on the back of my old Mark L clone, I can’t compensate much for exposure issues, I can’t edit, I can only shoot the next frame. Therefore I spend my time thinking about one image at a time, just one, that is all I have to worry about. I can drill down, the act of photography then becomes an extension of my thoughts, what am I trying to say, what am I looking to capture? I have to find the moment to click, I might only get one chance, then on to the next. I strive for some sort of literary thread, albeit without a real narrative there. But to me, my work captures a hint of being caught at a critical moment of an interrupted narrative. Something is happening–in my better photographs–something pivotal, maybe even important, but not entirely unexpected or spectacular.

As I have gotten accustomed to the nuances of my personal cameras and their capabilities and shortcomings I am more able to tweek my shooting style for the best possible outcomes. That is another great thing about using cheap cameras, you can buy lots of them and you can work in your own modifications without worrying about tearing something up and making them unusable. Each camera has it’s own personality based upon the inconsistency in manufacturing and the fact that in many cases they are over 25 years old. I find this part of the magic of shooting with them.

This, and the fact that these toy cameras were made to be used by children. In some way, using toy cameras delivers on the promise of childhood discovery and many times, disappointment, because the images produced do little to mimic reality. Rarely does what you capture come out like what you saw when shooting. As tools of documentary, they may fall flat, but I find that they succeed in creating their own version of the truth, something not readily seen upon first glimpse, the potential of something deeper, something seen best when not seen sharply or without shadow.

I use my toy cameras to tell the stories of my children’s lives, the mundane, day-to-day, many times unremarkable moments, but these images say more about where they are as boys than the images of faked birthday smiles and awkward award presentations. The photos captured on film through these crappy little cameras will be cherished, revisited and pondered long after the gigabytes of pristine digital images I’ve snapped of them. Why? Because in the end, they are just better–unspoiled, unretouched, emotionally “there” images. When you think of the tens of thousands of amazing, thought-provoking analog-based images you’ve seen in your lifetime and their place in the history of photography and art it’s easy to overlook the fact that you have yet to see one digitally produced image that has that sort of resonance. Sure, there will be some, digital will win if it hasn’t already, and the digi-revolution has returned photography to the people, but I’m still waiting for it to convince me of its worth as the best tool for me to make my art and tell the stories I want to tell. I guess I’ll continue to use the fishing pole while the rest of the world looks for the best way to drain the pond.

tread

…more from Tread here and here.