Monday 19 September 2011

The shock of the familiar

One of the many things I don't understand about some people who take photographs is their apparent need to travel to far off places to take them. Even when this is limited to their own country they are, to my mind, closing their eyes to what is around them. For me one of the attractions of photography is it's ability to make you see things differently. By it's very nature it isolates sections of the world by placing them within the confines of a frame, and in the process transforms them. It is an intensity of vision rather than the subject which 'makes' a photograph.
"To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour."
If your subject is people they are no less interesting and varied in your own neighbourhood than they are on the other side of the globe. A Tibetan monk may be more colourful, exotic and picturesque, than an inner-city vicar - which may superficially enhance your photographs, but he is no more human. I've had my fill of orange robes. Photography is about seeing, not travelling.

There is always the problem when visiting places that others have photographed of repeating what they have already done. There's an iconography of accepted subjects, and of course the familiarity of the resulting images makes them palatable to an audience that doesn't like to be challenged. Making images of what is familiar to you is almost always going to be more challenging for an audience as they will most likely be less familiar with the subjects than they are with more distant but widely photographed subjects.

Perhaps this is why I find McCurry's photographs of people in far flung places beautiful yet somehow trite and Parr's work at times harsh, but fresh and intriguing. I'd rather look at photographs that withstand prolonged and repeated scrutiny to appreciate than those which satisfy the eye immediately by playing all the old tricks for effect.

Another benefit of taking photographs in familiar, often visited, places is that of time. Time allows for change, not only of light and the world itself, but also of attitude of mind. In one state of mind something may appear uninteresting, in another it could seem intriguing. The photographer of the exotic doesn't always have this facility available.

Writers are often encouraged to write about what they know, even if only as a jumping off point. Photographers should perhaps photograph what they know in order to see that unexpected world in the familiar grain of sand.

All this is, of course, is merely a way of justifying my banal and insular photographs!

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