Darkroom work is a continuation of the work that started in the field. Printing a negative is not a separate act of photographic creativity; it’s the next step on a continuum. For example, I have often developed a negative to higher contrast in an already contrasty scene. I realized while I was behind the camera that I could use the darkroom to burn down the brightest areas, but that the higher contrast negative would give me better local contrasts within the scene. Thus, I was thinking about how I would print the negative even before I exposed it (Figure 7-1). Seeing the process all the way through is known as “previsualization”. It’s part of knowing what you want, learning the zone system, understanding the full capabilities of the negative, and recognizing the options in the darkroom to help get you there.
A writer has a good outline of a book before starting the story. A composer has a concept of an entire piece of music before composing. A painter has an idea of a painting before committing to the canvas. (There are exceptions, of course, but this is usually the case.) Similarly, photographers should have a clear outline and path for a final photograph while standing behind the camera. But you’ll get there only part of the time if you restrict yourself to negatives of a standard density, proofed at a standard time. Why restrict yourself; why not expand your options?
Now that we’ve made good contact proofs, let’s increase our efficiency in making a final print. This is integrally tied up with Myth #6.
Myth #6: The best landscape photographs are made within an hour and a half of sunrise or sunset
Confining yourself exclusively to early and late hour photography does not guarantee the making of a great photograph. Some people may extend the stated time frame for good outdoor photographs to two hours, and a few real liberals may even go farther. I take the radical route and say that you can photograph landscapes throughout the day, from the first light of morning to the very last photon of evening, with the possibility of great results at any time. The only concession I make to timing is that you need some light; you simply can’t make photographs in total darkness! Other than the need for some amount of light, there’s no reason to put your camera away at any time of the day.
This doesn’t necessarily mean that you can make a great photograph in every location at any time of day, certainly no more so than confining yourself to early and late hour photography could guarantee the making of a great photograph.
This photograph, made about 2:30 p.m., is a counterexample to the rule that good landscapes can only be made near sunrise and sunset. The slope of the land rose gently to the left, or west, and the photograph was made in early November, when the sun is relatively low in the sky. Everything came together perfectly for a strong, open, midday landscape.
Figure 13-9. Elegant Dune
This seascape was made at about 1:00 p.m. while crashing surf pounded the shore between huge tree-covered sea stacks.
Figure 13-10. Surf, Olympic Peninsula, Washington
The making of a great landscape photograph requires a number of convergent conditions, among them: your goals; special lighting and/or atmospheric conditions; special relationships of lines, forms, or tonalities; the equipment and materials you have available; your insight, intuition, and creativity; and any number of other fortuitous conditions.
Some of Edward Weston’s most celebrated landscapes were made at noon, like the eroded patterns at Zabriskie Point in Death Valley. Some of his famous images of nudes on sand dunes were made at midday with axis light. Weston used midday light with confidence, and there is no reason you can’t do so as well. I’ve photographed on the sand dunes in Death Valley at Stove Pipe Wells, and have made photographs at all times of the day that I love, including those midday hours that so many photographers avoid (see Figure 5-2, and Figure 13-9).
Throughout my career, I’ve successfully photographed at all times of the day (and even at night). It’s true that the early and late hours are quite special. Particularly in wide-open landscapes, the low angle of the sun in early and late hours rakes across the landscape, yielding remarkable intersections of light and shadow that exist only during those fleeting moments. Contours of the land stand out that may be invisible at midday when the sun hits at angles approaching 90 degrees. But consider this: not all landscapes are wide-open landscapes. Furthermore, not all wonderful relationships of lines or forms take place only under a low angle of light. Your insight, intuition, and creativity do not mysteriously disappear at midday, nor does your equipment, nor your materials.
I made this image between 11:00 a.m. and noon in northern Arizona after morning clouds abruptly disappeared. The evenly lit scene of deep red rocks with nearly white banding is another example of a midday landscape that was perfectly lit for what it was. I used a #58 deep green filter to further darken the red and build contrast.
Figure 13-11. Striations and Reflections, Coyote Buttes
Restricting your photography to the hours near sunrise or sunset limits your exploration to the times that low light exists. That cramps your options. Low light is fine, but it’s not the only good light. Suppose you wake up on a foggy, rainy, or cloudy day, and that light remains constant. One of my most noteworthy photographs (Figure 3-7) was made under wonderfully foggy conditions at about 11:30 a.m. The fog had several benefits: it softened the light in the forest, it evened out the light (i.e., it removed bright splotches and dark shadows), and it simplified the background by eliminating it! Trees were visible for only a short distance before disappearing into the fog. I couldn’t have made that photograph at noon on a sunny day, nor could I have made it near sunrise or sunset; alternating bright sunlight and deep shade on the trees would have transformed the image into a confusing mess of light and dark spots. Fog at noon was perfect.
But the deep forest was an enclosed situation. The question arises: can you make midday photographs in an open landscape? Of course you can—remember, Weston did! It may not be easy, but it can be done. In December 2000, I went to the Olympic Peninsula on a wild, windy, rainy day. Wave upon wave pounded in, with spindrift flying off each one as it rolled toward the beach. It would have made no difference if the time were sunrise, midday, or sunset. Conditions were exceptional. There was no reason to put down my camera simply because it was 1:00 p.m. (Figure 13-10).
Late morning to early afternoon is the only sensible time to photograph this dramatic, rugged landscape of colorfully eroded clays on the east flank of Death Valley. Shortly after sunrise, the entire area remains in shadow for quite some time, rendering it difficult to photograph (though it can be done). Midday is far better.
Figure 13-12. Pinnacles, Golden Canyon
In 1998, I hiked into Coyote Buttes, Arizona where I had photographed for several years. I was hoping for cloudy conditions and soft light. Lo and behold, I got what I wanted! But at about 9:30 a.m. the clouds simply evaporated. Suddenly I was stuck with a blank blue sky, full glaring sunlight. I was quite disappointed, but rather than packing my bags to leave, I continued walking, looking, and enjoying this remarkable area. Just as suddenly as the clouds disappeared, I started seeing wonderful things all around me, and over the next three hours I made three of my best photographs at Coyote Buttes (Figure 13-11).