Also keep in mind the important point thoroughly discussed in Chapter 4: The scene and the photograph are two very different entities! Never confuse the two. I was attracted to the mushrooms at the site by a number of things, including their astonishing size (almost a foot across) and their color, however subdued. But in the black-and-white photograph, light and composition alone are the only means of attracting the viewer. So I molded the light carefully in the darkroom to force the viewer’s eye to the mushrooms in the print as my own eye was attracted to them in the field. In essence, I simply did what I had to do! All that, I’m sure anyone would agree, is perfectly ethical.
Another of my photographs, Figure 10-14, presents a more radical departure. The doors were slightly darker than the surrounding stonework, yet they looked lighter to my eye (perhaps because of the wonderful carving on the doors). So the tones were opposite of what I thought they were. Had I realized that they were darker, I might not have made the exposure (and that would have been unfortunate, in my opinion). At the very least, I would have been aware of the enormity of the problem. But I wasn’t, until I saw the developed negative. Then I knew I was in deep trouble.
I had a goal in mind: making the doors glow as they appeared to glow when I stood before them. I used substantial dodging, burning, and bleaching to achieve that goal and overcome the unexpected difficulties. To my surprise, the final print exceeded my initial vision, and I feel fortunate for the surprisingly good result. But it was a combination of my initial vision (despite my incorrect seeing) and my determination to achieve that vision that allowed me to achieve the final print that I now display. Again, no one has ever questioned the integrity of that.
Interestingly, I find that much of the manipulation I perform in the darkroom—burning, dodging, flashing, and bleaching—is done to bring the image back in line with the way I saw it in the field. Digital practitioners report largely the same efforts on their part, which I have also found to be true in my digital shooting. The reason for this is quite logical, if not obvious. As noted in Chapter 2, the eye focuses sharply on only a three-degree angle of view. Chapter 4 delves further into that point by noting that as the eye sweeps over a scene, the iris opens and closes constantly to compensate for varying light levels. In other words, it varies its aperture to accommodate all parts of the scene. But the camera shoots everything at one aperture, necessitating a great deal of residual work in the darkroom or on the computer to do what the eye does automatically. If we could all photograph the way we see—i.e., the way the eye/brain combination sees—photography would be an easier endeavor.
Note
The darkroom or computer is as much a creative tool as the camera. All tools of any trade should be used thoughtfully and to maximum advantage
The darkroom or computer is as much a creative tool as the camera. All tools of any trade should be used thoughtfully and to maximum advantage. How can anyone feel that manipulating a print in the darkroom by dodging, burning, flashing, masking, or reducing is any less legitimate than altering contrast via paper grades, filters, or lenses; or editing an image in Photoshop by altering contrast settings, reshaping curves, or adjusting color, saturation, or hues? They are all part of creative photography.
Nobody questions a painter’s right to use any manipulation they desire. Objects can be placed on the canvas at will; colors and shapes can be chosen to suit the artist’s vision. Painters can set up a canvas in front of a landscape and move things around, add things, remove things, and alter the sizes, shapes, and colors in any way they choose. It’s all legitimate. In fact, anything can be done by painters in the name of art.
This was the first of my “ideal landscapes”, i.e., fictional landscapes derived from more than one negative. Figure 14-3 and Figure 14-4 show the full straight prints of the component parts. Neither of them struck me as complete by themselves, with large, boring areas that required cropping. Putting the components together made good artistic sense but initially drew extreme displeasure from viewers outraged by the “falseness” of it. Some still refuse to accept it; most have changed their minds and accept it as artistically valid. Review the two component images and the final combination, and decide whether you see it as valid art or fraudulent deception.
Figure 14-2. Moonrise Over Cliffs and Dunes
Exposed in 1976, this image possesses interesting rhythmic dune forms in the upper center, but the rest of it offers little. I never printed it as a single image.
Figure 14-3. Dunes, Death Valley
Exposed in 1991, the upper half of this scene excited me immensely, but the lower half was uninteresting. I initially considered cropping off the bottom and turning the image into a narrow panorama. Then the idea of combining it with the dune image jumped into my mind. It was a triumph, opening the door to numerous other combination prints.
Figure 14-4. Moon Over Butte and Cliffs, Utah
Photography can be more restrictive. Objects cannot always be moved, inserted, or removed with traditional techniques, though digital approaches easily allow these manipulations. It’s necessary to find meaningful relationships between objects in the field, which often means careful placement of the camera to produce interesting relationships. Tonalities can’t be altered easily in the field, but enormous changes are possible on the computer using a variety of applications. However, by using filtration in the field, followed by appropriate negative development and careful dodging, burning, flashing, or bleaching during printing, the relative brightness of two objects can even be reversed! Painters have the right to do this; photographers enjoy the same artistic rights.
With these thoughts in mind, in 1992 I began printing a series of landscape images that are created from more than one negative. Sometimes the foreground of one scene is meshed with the background of another (Figure 14-2, Figure 14-3, and Figure 14-4). Sometimes a corner of one scene is replaced by a portion of another. Sometimes a sky from another negative is printed into the background. (This technique was quite common in the late 1800s and early 1900s when orthochromatic films rendered almost all skies white, so a second “sky negative” was employed to enrich the blank background of the prime negative.) Sometimes one negative is printed fully over another. Any other conceivable variation can be employed. There are no restrictions to the approaches I use.
These multiple negative landscapes—or abstracts drawn from the landscape—are all designed to have a realistic appearance. That’s the only restriction I place upon them. They are landscape images created in the darkroom. They are photographic fiction just as a novel is literary fiction. Depending on the viewer’s way of thinking, they are either artistically creative or downright phony. They are undoubtedly the most controversial images I have ever produced.
To me they represent ideal landscapes: the types of places I would love to visit if they existed. I bring them into existence in the darkroom. Painters unquestionably have the right to create their own fantasy landscapes purely from imagination. I ask for the same right to be granted to photographers. My multiple-negative imagery allows me to expand landscape photography from places I have seen and loved to places I would love to see.
These images initially created a firestorm of controversy. Interestingly, it appears that the realistic nature of the images is the prime reason for the hesitation or outright opposition I sometimes encounter. Among those who have expressed displeasure with the series, none have registered complaints with the multiple negative surrealism of Jerry Uelsmann. They recognize his works as flights of fancy and accept them on those terms. But the inherent realism of my ideal landscapes leads some viewers to feel tricked when they find out that the scene doesn’t exist in reality. Apparently when they ask, “Where was that photograph taken?” and I answer, “The upper part is Utah and the lower part is California” (or something like that), they are dismayed. Others are angered. Still others find it perfectly acceptable. In short, the imagery is controversial.