Chris Bickford

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The following is a bit of “decompression” writing I’ve done since returning from David Alan Harvey’s “At Home” photography workshop in New York City (View David’s site here). It was a pivotal experience for me, and has left me much to think about. Those of you who are familiar wih David’s work, his blog, or his workshops, may find some good nuggets here. Those of you who have considered taking a workshop with David might get a little more insight on what to expect, and why you should do it. The rest of you, you might want to move to a post that has photos, as this one has none:)

It is hard to describe exactly how David Harvey teaches–if you can even call it teaching. It’s more like coaching, or mentoring. He doesn’t spend a whole lot of time laying anything out for you, or going down lists of things you need to know or think about. The workshop starts, and from then on it’s just one big long conversation. But at the right moment, when the photograph or issue in question calls for it, David draws from his arsenal of personal mantras, and throws out a killer line (another student describes is a “David-Alan-Harvey-ism”) that just sticks in your head like a post-it note on your brain–written with a Sharpie so it won’t fade. You hardly even have to take notes, because somehow these simple little aphorisms stick with you. So it’s only natural that I organize my thoughts about what I’ve learned recently as a result of David’s coaching, around a few choice one-liners: the first being:

“All of this will probably start making more sense to you a couple of weeks, a couple of months from now…”

And with that, we begin…

“It’s all about authorship…”

Authorship, authorship, authorship. At first it seemed like some kind of cult-speak, because every visiting photographer, editor, Magnum representative, and publisher that spoke to the workshop said something about “authorship”. “What’s the big deal?” I thought. “I just want to take some good pictures”. But as the idea settled, i started to get it, and soon it became in my mind both a necessity for growth and a personal challenge. The nutshell of authorship is that you are the creator of your body of work, and your work should carry the stamp of “you”, the photographer, in every image. To some degree this means creating a unique and compelling personal style; but more than that, it is about making images that are important to you, and developing a body of work that means something to you, and in which you can see yourself reflected. Photography on this level becomes a personal, perhaps even spiritual, quest to see the world in your own way, and to reflect that vision in your imagery.

It’s a tall order, because in order to fulfill it, you need to ask yourself, “what is it that ignites my passion and my interests…really?” and “how do I really feel about this?” And, furthermore, “what do I want my life’s work to be about? What kind of effect do I want my work to have?” Big questions, and everyone has a different answer. Some may be compelled to document conflict. Some may be drawn to the beauty of nature. Some may want to make abstract expressions of color, or chronicle life in a small town or big city. But the important thing is to zero in on something that means something to you, find a thread to your work, and follow that thread. If you remain true to yourself, it will be a thread like no other.

Which leads to the next concept:

“Great photographers choose their subjects carefully.”

Ansel Adams, James Natchwey, Robert Doisneau, Sally Mann, Bill Allard, David Harvey…they’ve all got a “thing”–and a lot of what that thing comes from is making choices about what to photograph and what not to photograph. The world can be a pretty overwhelming place visually, and it’s plenty easy to make work that’s “all over the place”. So it is important to have a clear vision of what your work is about and to constantly refine that vision, and not get too distracted with things that don’t have anything to do with what you’re after. One of David’s strategies that he shared with us that he uses to focus his imagery is to write down a short list of words that describe what it is he is trying to capture, and to use this list of words to inform his research and inspire his photography. I think for his lifelong exploration of Latin America, his list includes words like “machismo” and “sensuality”….So he’s gone off in search of bullfights, festivals, and dance clubs…

What’s my thing? What’s yours? I think in some sense it takes a lifetime to discover, and to some extent it can’t be known until you’re deep into, and some way down the road of, your life’s work. Then the patterns start to appear, things start to make sense. But it helps to know, right from the start, that you need to pick something and stick to it, explore it deeply; whether it be a subject, a style, a color palette, a place…but you’ve got to choose.
“Surround yourself with the best and brightest.”

At several points during the workshop, David talked about the importance of being in a community of artists and photographers who share your passion and who can push you to keep taking your work in new directions. He spoke of the Impressionists in Paris, the artists of the Italian Rennaissance, and of his own photo agency, Magnum.

For whatever reason, this notion kind of grabbed hold of me. I remember on the last day of the workshop, when we were all frenetically preparing for the slideshow that night; and students, staff, and various friends who were just hanging out were helping each other with titles, final edits, and music…you could just feel the creative buzz in the room. I remember thinking, I want more days like this.

Now I have returned to my home on the beautiful Outer Banks and I’m thinking, how the hell am I going to find 19th century Paris around here?…Much as I love this place, it ain’t exactly an art mecca…We’ll see what happens in my world, but it is a very important idea. Much of the greatest art the world has ever seen was borne from movements and communities where people of great talent were in constant contact with each other, feeding off of each other’s creative energy, and pushing each other to work harder, go deeper…

In a way, the workshop experience mimics this kind of community. We’re all critiquing each other’s work, getting inspired by each other, and even competing with each other. It’s a heady environment to be in, and can be exhausting, but it really does produce some amazing, even surprising work. Unfortunately, it only lasts a week and then we all go home to our little bedroom communities…

But David was also quick to point out that wherever he was in his life and career, he made an effort seek out and befriend the most talented people in his community. Whether in big towns or small. And nowadays, with the internet, the whole world is your artistic community. The possibilities of interfacing with other photographers and sharing your work are endless.

“I can’t tell you how to take a picture”….

The twelve of us in the room having our work critiqued on a daily basis were all experienced photographers, so there was little discussion about how to compose, or expose, or about f-stops or shutter speeds or lenses. Generally the conversation was about what “worked” and what “didn’t work”. And if a photo didn’t work, there was little discussion as to what the photographer should have done to make it work. If pressed for these kinds of answers, David would say, “that’s something you’ve got to figure out for yourself. I can’t tell you how to take the picture.” And as frustrating as it may have been to hear that, it really did push us to see things in our own way; which is the greatest instruction he could have given us. Sure, we could all learn how to make a picture the way Harvey does, but where would that get us? Nobody will ever be able to do David Harvey as well as Harvey himself. And by the same token, each of us has an original voice and style that only we can own. We need only tap into it, learn to recognize it, and keep pushing ourselves to develop it in our own special way.

“One camera, one lens.”

This was probably the most technical statement David made the whole week, and it was by no means proscriptive; it was merely an aside to some other conversation, about a certain philosophy that he has adhered to in his work. I just took notice of it because I’ve heard him mention it before in writing, and it struck me mainly because it’s so antithetical to the way I’m used to shooting.

The statement comes originally from Henri Cartier-Bresson, and back in the film days also extended to “one film, one developer.” The idea is to “eliminate the camera” as much as possible by being so familiar with one simple combination of film and focal length that photogaphy becomes a pure extension of the act of seeing and being in the moment.

I am, I confess, a bit of a gear-head when it comes to photography, and when I shoot professionally I often carry three cameras on me at one time, plus whatever I can get my assistant Rachael to schlep around in a bag. So when, on the first night of the workshop, David told me to go out with just one camera and one lens, and just carry it over my shoulder without even a bag, it was kind of a mini-revelation. “Don’t you feel freer already?” he said…

And it’s true. Walking around with just a camera and a little 28mm lens slung over my shoulder, I found myself able to slide in and out of situations, conversations, and moments that would have been much more awkward to approach with a bag and a few lenses. I blended in a lot more, became less of a photographer and more of a “witness”…

But there’s a lot more two this whole “one camera, one lens” thing that I started to figure out. And it mainly has to do with the “one lens” part. When you have a single focal length to work with (note: zooms don’t count as “one lens”) you not only have to work harder, get closer, and move around to get a good shot; you also define parameters that give your work stylistic coherence from the get-go. Your work takes on a certain “feel” that is derived literally from “seeing” things in one particular way.

Alas, the dilemma then becomes, what focal length to choose? Most adherents to the philosophy seem to favor 35mm, which is a good all-around length and one which most closely mimics the field of view of the human eye. But I really enjoyed working with the added breathing room and slightly distorted wide-angle view of 28mm. And I confess that I do love the creamy, dreamy look of a fast 50mm lens wide open. I’m afraid that my pathological indecisiveness will probably keep me from ever adopting this strategy in any rigid manner, but it has already gotten me very attuned to the different “personalities” of certain fixed focal lengths. And I can see in the future adopting a much more limited lens arsenal in my projects; perhaps even deciding beforehand on a single lens through which to “see” the subject at hand and create a singular, cohesive interpretation of it.

Forget about the shots you missed.

We all seemed to have photos we were a little bit wedded to because we knew what we “meant” the photo to be about. Only thing is, we didn’t quite “get it”. David would joke with us, and say something like, “I know you’re in love with this photo so we’ll keep it for a day or so but I guarantee you’ll want to lose it in the final edit.” And of course, once the pieces started to coalesce, there would be a universal “get that photo out of there” kind of assent…

This one has implications beyond just photography, for me at least. The simple idea is that you build your work (and your life) on your successes, and you let the “almosts” go. Even if you worked for days trying to get a particular shot, if the shot doesn’t sing, if it ain’t got that thing, it’s going in the trash and you’re moving on. The larger implication, of course, is not to dwell too much on things that didn’t work out. Grab hold of the things that did work out, and parlay them into bigger and better things.

Of course, there is still plenty of room for going back and trying again if the idea is there and you just need to nail it, or even in revisiting old work in new contexts from a different vantage point. So while it’s important to “let go and move on”…it’s also important not to burn down the town in your wake…
“No Excuses!”

Well, that one pretty much speaks for itself, and I think I’ll just end this thing there. If there is anything David or anyone else in the photo industry can’t tolerate, it’s excuses. If you didn’t get the shot, you didn’t get it; no amount of excuses–the light was bad, the weather was bad, the people wouldn’t participate, my camera broke–will compensate for poor photos. If the conditions are unfavorable, it just means you have to work harder, think differently, and use extraordinary circumstances to your advantage. Or cut your losses and move on to something else. But don’t make excuses! Sounds like a good philosophy for life in general, doesn’t it?