As the eye scans the scene, the iris progressively opens as the light decreases. The brain further equalizes the differences, so we note only slight changes in light levels. We do not see the full extent of the decrease from the first to the third subject. The film or sensor, however, sees it as it truly is, for it sees everything at the aperture that has been set. (The specifics of this issue are discussed at the end of Chapter 8.)
Outdoors, the inverse square law does not apply (because the sun is so far away), but another problem arises. The light of the sky is considerably brighter than the light on the land, especially on cloudy, overcast days. A magnificent scene may end up as a photograph with a disappointingly dark lower half and a surprisingly bright sky. It may be close to blank white in the print. Careful light meter readings or histogram displays will indicate the potential problem. The eye, in concert with the brain, is a wonder of practical deception that helps us get through life by smoothing over problems like these.
There are even times when the eye/brain combination actively deceives us because of its lifelong experience. You can try the following experiment to prove it to yourself: have two people stand next to a doorway, with one outside in sunlight and the other just inside in shadow. The person outside must wear a very dark shirt (preferably black), and the one inside must wear a very light shirt (preferably white). Let’s assume the shirts are made of the same material, so they have the same surface reflectivity. Now see which shirt appears lighter to you. You know the white shirt is lighter, but in the shadow it receives far less light. If you are like 99 percent of the people who try this, the white shirt will truly appear lighter, but meter readings will always show that the black shirt in sunlight is the lighter one. The eye/brain combination has learned to overcome the fact that the black shirt in sunlight is brighter than the white shirt in shadow, because experience has taught us that the white shirt is lighter than the black shirt!
An enormous structure, built shortly after the Spanish conquest, stands in the tiny village of Maní in Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula. It is a church, a ruin, a school, a convent, and a town center. When I saw the wooden folding chair in a large side room, in the light of an open door, I imagined a story unfolding: Pablo Casals had just finished playing one of Bach’s “Suites for Cello” and had walked out the open door. The music was still echoing off the walls. It was magic. The inverse square law of light created a serious lighting imbalance. To overcome it, I dodged the wall’s darker right half, then burned the wall nearest the door.
Figure 5-8. Chair and Shadow, Convento San Miguel
Film and sensors can never match this human ability, so you have to learn to see the way they see. You must begin to recognize amounts of light as they actually are, not as experience tells you they “should be”. You must begin to see continuities and discontinuities of lines and forms caused by light, as well as changes in scenes that result from altered lighting. This is the heart of the difference between “seeing” and “photographic seeing”. The photographer has to learn how to see the light! It will prove to be a lifetime study.
Chapter 6. Color
THE FIRST FIVE CHAPTERS DISCUSS a variety of practical and philosophical topics, all applicable to both black-and-white and color. In Chapter 3, I specifically delayed a discussion of color as an element of composition due to its exceptional importance. This chapter deals with the profound compositional considerations that color brings to photography, and also with some specific considerations of color as applied to both traditional and digital approaches.
I feel that color photographs and black-and-white photographs are essentially two different media. I approach them differently, I see them differently, and my goals are different in each. To me, the emotional connotations as well as some of the compositional elements involved with color have no analogy in black-and-white. Rarely can I photograph the same scene successfully in both media—so rarely, in fact, that I now choose between color and black-and-white before making an exposure. In past years I often shot a scene both ways, but since I was never equally satisfied with the results, I have discarded the dual approach. I consider this a form of discipline that requires me to be fully in tune with my feelings about the scene and my thoughts about expressing those feelings (Figure 6-1).
The benefit of this procedure is that I can concentrate fully on the choice I make, rather than giving partial thought to both color and black-and-white exposures. I do allow an exception, however: if I encounter unusual conditions that I feel allow both color and black-and-white exposures of real significance, then I may consider exposing the scene both ways. One example would be a relatively dark location that requires a long exposure (several minutes), which could alter the true colors of the scene due to the film’s reciprocity failure (more on reciprocity failure in Chapter 9). Another reason to photograph a scene in both color and black-and-white would be a purposefully altered coloration that brings a new reality to the scene, or an unusual effect in black-and-white that makes it a vastly different image from its color counterpart. Sometimes, of course, the image simply has merit for both approaches, but I’ve never yet seen it have the same feeling both ways. And sometimes I simply can’t determine which way I like it better, so I do both (Figure 6-2 and Figure 6-2). But I limit those exceptions quite severely.
The devastating Agoura-Malibu and Mandeville Canyon fires occurred on the same day in 1978, burning 30,000 acres in 24 hours. In the Mandeville Canyon fire area, an old, corroded metal shed, now burnt, had amazing colors. Despite looking like a Hubble Telescope cosmic photograph, it’s just junk on the ground.
Figure 6-1. Burnt, Corroded Metal
This is one of the few photographs I have successfully made in both color and black-and-white. After exposing the black-and-white negative, I noticed overtones of colors that were barely visible to the eye—in particular, the blue-purple tinges that are reflections of skylight off the canyon walls. Realizing that color film could materially enhance those colors, I exposed a single transparency as an experiment. It worked. The two images, though compositionally identical, carry very different messages.
Figure 6-2. The Keyhole, Lower Antelope Canyon
The green color is almost monochrome, but necessary because of its emerald-like intensity (step aside, Ireland!). The riparian foliage creates an interesting shape, providing the compositional interest. The sheep flock in the upper left adds an unexpected surprise.
Figure 6-3. Sheep Flock, Tuscany
I base my choice of black-and-white or color primarily on the importance—or the lack of importance—of color in the photograph. I feel that for a color photograph to be successful, color itself must be a central element. There must be something compelling about the colors, about the relationships among the colors, about the intensities of the colors, and about their placement within the scene that makes them essential to the photograph. On the other hand, if color is merely present in the scene—as it always is—without lending needed support, and if it can be eliminated without losing the compositional essence of the image, then my choice is black-and-white. This does not mean that the color has to be intense or brilliant for it to be important—it can, in fact, be subdued or nearly monochrome—but it must be important! (Figure 6-3.) Sometimes the compositional elements of black-and-white are so compelling that the presence of color actually detracts from them, in which case I also choose black-and-white.