The last couple weeks, I have sat down several times to write what I was thinking, try and explain to myself why I am doing what I'm doing. The format is very informal, as I was basically talking to myself and recording the conversation.
Why take photos of Galt?
I wanted to take photographs of Galt because of the incredible history in this town. In such a short period, it's gone from being dubbed "the Manchester of Canada" to presently being swallowed up by the City of Cambridge, not to mention the Region of Waterloo. It is mainly bypassed and driven through. Most of the old buildings have stood their time having only changed tenants - many of them are falling apart and are in serious need of repair. The CIBC building is an exception, having been the first tenant in the building at the corner of water and main and remaining there today (after an interior renovation in the 60's).
I feel there is a change coming to the town and, though slowly, it's on its way back up again. The demise of the Royal Hotel and its current rebuilding gives me that idea. There is something to be said for someone who invests so much money in a building that would have been much cheaper to simply tear down. There is history here. And, though, selling crack through a hole in the wall in the bathroom may not be anything to brag about, it is part of the texture that makes up the history of this town, and helps define the town as it stands.
Why do I want to take photos?
The first reaction that comes to mind is that I don't just want to take any photos, I want to take beautiful photos. I want to find the beauty that lies in this town, some of it obvious and some of it not. And though one begs to question whether something is beautiful because it is photographed or whether it is photographed because it is beautiful, I am not sure I am ready to answer that question in this thesis or whether or not it is my responsibility to do so. Light, shadow, texture and form do an amazing job to create beauty in places where it may not be typically present.
I almost feel that taking photos of ruins, and abandoned buildings is a somewhat cliché, an image I don't want to be tied to. But, on the other hand, there is incredible beauty in things that have been abandoned, worn down by weather, changing and existing on their own.
There are those other things, like cheap subdivisions and condos, buildings built and created solely to cash in on a portion of the money that has somehow been slowly coming back to the town since the school moved in. And though, I don't find those buildings beautiful, I do find the images of them moving, or telling. They also make up a part of this town, its present history, and since I do not believe they are a good idea, lack character, quality and all the things that make good architecture, I believe juxtaposing them with the defiant structures of the original town, gives them an incredibly weak, almost laughable, image.
The houses in the various areas around the downtown core amuse me. There are the mansions in West Galt - beautiful old buildings, full of character and amazing workmanship. Some, though, are still ridiculously monumental for the sole purpose of being a residence to a single family. On the east side of Galt is another hill - old houses again, not nearly as monumental, still filled with character - though many of them more so from their owners and tenants rather than their architectural appeal.
The 1950's neighbourhood to the South of Concession Street is almost surreal. Though I am used to seeing townhouses and condos, all lined up like ducks in a row, not knowing one from the next, the small 900 square foot symmetrical boxes line the streets so identically, it becomes somewhat rhythmic and soothing.
In between all these distinct classes are a mish-mash of beautiful houses amid incredible trash - homes with terrible proportions, vinyl siding galore, and of course, 'furnished' porches and kitsch strewn yards.
Sometimes, depending on the light, incredible shapes, forms, textures and scenes emerge from these random places, weaving together the characters that make up the town.
Where are all the people?
I have never had any inclination to take pictures of individuals – people are too unpredictable, and I enjoy the patience I can employ while waiting for the light right, trying the image from a different angle. Also with all the red tape involved with taking photographs of people, I rather stay away from the whole thing. I have become much more brave at approaching people’s homes, backyards and properties in general to photograph them, but photographing people is still beyond my realm of courage. (Unless I do it the Walker Evans way and release my photos ten years later in fear of being sued). There is a certain amount of control which must be relinquished when photographing people.
There is constancy in buildings – something to always expect, and yet something to always be surprised by. Though I may see a building a hundred times, passing it on the street daily, there can be one instance in which, it shows itself in a different light (pun intended), and everything about it changes. It is my responsibility (and privilege) to experience and capture that exact moment, if I am prepared and capable.
What does it mean to take a photograph?
Being a photographer, I immediately believe that the photograph belongs to the person who captured it with his or her camera. There is no doubt in my mind that buildings, once built, are in the public domain. They are in the street, they are viewed every day, there is no reason why someone, for whatever reason, cannot take a photograph. Wallpaper, clothing – anything that is designed, at one point ‘belongs’ to the designer, but after it is released for others to purchase, to see, to interact with – the designer relinquishes his or her control. Arguably, someone inevitably owns the building and the actual property on which it sits, and so they can control photography taken inside. Unless there is some sort of security threat, they, I do not believe, have the right to control the taking of photographs.
Though I tend to think the same when photographing a person, I am sure I would be of a different opinion if the photo in question were of me. In an intimate setting, yes I think there is an issue of privacy, defamation is possible and many other issues. But out in the public domain, with the mass production of cameras and camera phones, one cannot expect to never end up in a strangers photo. And though entering the frame could be completely accidental, or staged and patiently expected by the photographer, neither, I believe, should be an issue. There is the, obviously, the problem of people who are ill and take photos for personal use and abuse, but this, I think, begins a more political discussion. You can’t control a person like that, but you can control your own actions. I have had my photo taken randomly by a camera phone on a bus, and found it incredibly creepy – but I simply moved away from the person and out of their view.
The reason for many tribes in North African (?) countries and elsewhere to fear photography is pretty simple and really quite understandable. Their belief system explains our souls, our essential being, as having a multitude of layers. When a photograph is taken, one of those layers is trapped within the photograph to create that image and so the subject is one layer closer to ceasing to exist. This belief is actually very close to what Sontag and Barthes spoke of when they referred to the light emanating off a photograph. The exact light that took the photograph of a missing person was absorbed by the camera, which then recorded that photo. That light produced that photo and now allowed Barthes and Sontag to see the image of that person, linking them physically to the person through light.
Composition
What many people are not aware of is the incredible work that occurs in the dark room after the photo is taken. I completed two final prints today – my first two out of approximately sixty to come. And, for the first print, there must be at least twenty scrap test sheets – puzzle pieces that make up the complex areas of the photo, those that have to be tested and retested, burned or dodged. Within every photo that is printed, each area of shadow or light has to be tested, compared, altered – discovered. To make the final composition work, look as coherent and beautiful as it possibly can, many different components have to be finalized first.
I had an incredible day when I was working on my first print – still messing around with shadows and trying to find information in areas of light. I decided, upon the advice of my mentor, to risk it – to risk exposing the light area too much, rather than not enough. If I had decided to only expose it a little bit longer than I had already done, hoping there would be more information, I would never know what information could possibly be lying in the image if I exposed to, say, twice the amount of time as I had previously done. And, amazingly enough, I discovered shadows where previously I thought there were none! It seems quite ridiculous, but it was an incredible find as it brought that portion of the image alive – dancing tree branches on an old and rusty front door – one more piece of the puzzle was complete.
There is a very obvious connection with design in this entire process – once in the darkroom the composition of the photograph becomes a design of components. You must first perfect each component, but, all the while, keeping in mind how it will compare with the rest of the image. You may discover that an area seems too light, missing information, looking slightly under exposed. But, after having exposed that small piece of the picture longer, you find that the whole image now seems colder, less inviting. You discover that, even though on its own the small area seemed much too bright, in the whole of the picture it actually provided a ray of sunlight, of warmth – a destination for the viewer, where he or she could image themselves sitting on a tattered sofa on a porch, basking in the afternoon sun. By taking away that warmth, you change the atmosphere of the photograph and its connection to the viewer.
I have learned to underexpose the shadows and over expose the light – information lurks in areas you would not expect and though our eyes are complex enough to be able to pick out these tonal changes and hidden information, the camera lenses are not capable to see what we see. It is our job to then find what the camera cannot see – or does not know it sees.
Why take photos of Galt?
I wanted to take photographs of Galt because of the incredible history in this town. In such a short period, it's gone from being dubbed "the Manchester of Canada" to presently being swallowed up by the City of Cambridge, not to mention the Region of Waterloo. It is mainly bypassed and driven through. Most of the old buildings have stood their time having only changed tenants - many of them are falling apart and are in serious need of repair. The CIBC building is an exception, having been the first tenant in the building at the corner of water and main and remaining there today (after an interior renovation in the 60's).
I feel there is a change coming to the town and, though slowly, it's on its way back up again. The demise of the Royal Hotel and its current rebuilding gives me that idea. There is something to be said for someone who invests so much money in a building that would have been much cheaper to simply tear down. There is history here. And, though, selling crack through a hole in the wall in the bathroom may not be anything to brag about, it is part of the texture that makes up the history of this town, and helps define the town as it stands.
Why do I want to take photos?
The first reaction that comes to mind is that I don't just want to take any photos, I want to take beautiful photos. I want to find the beauty that lies in this town, some of it obvious and some of it not. And though one begs to question whether something is beautiful because it is photographed or whether it is photographed because it is beautiful, I am not sure I am ready to answer that question in this thesis or whether or not it is my responsibility to do so. Light, shadow, texture and form do an amazing job to create beauty in places where it may not be typically present.
I almost feel that taking photos of ruins, and abandoned buildings is a somewhat cliché, an image I don't want to be tied to. But, on the other hand, there is incredible beauty in things that have been abandoned, worn down by weather, changing and existing on their own.
There are those other things, like cheap subdivisions and condos, buildings built and created solely to cash in on a portion of the money that has somehow been slowly coming back to the town since the school moved in. And though, I don't find those buildings beautiful, I do find the images of them moving, or telling. They also make up a part of this town, its present history, and since I do not believe they are a good idea, lack character, quality and all the things that make good architecture, I believe juxtaposing them with the defiant structures of the original town, gives them an incredibly weak, almost laughable, image.
The houses in the various areas around the downtown core amuse me. There are the mansions in West Galt - beautiful old buildings, full of character and amazing workmanship. Some, though, are still ridiculously monumental for the sole purpose of being a residence to a single family. On the east side of Galt is another hill - old houses again, not nearly as monumental, still filled with character - though many of them more so from their owners and tenants rather than their architectural appeal.
The 1950's neighbourhood to the South of Concession Street is almost surreal. Though I am used to seeing townhouses and condos, all lined up like ducks in a row, not knowing one from the next, the small 900 square foot symmetrical boxes line the streets so identically, it becomes somewhat rhythmic and soothing.
In between all these distinct classes are a mish-mash of beautiful houses amid incredible trash - homes with terrible proportions, vinyl siding galore, and of course, 'furnished' porches and kitsch strewn yards.
Sometimes, depending on the light, incredible shapes, forms, textures and scenes emerge from these random places, weaving together the characters that make up the town.
Where are all the people?
I have never had any inclination to take pictures of individuals – people are too unpredictable, and I enjoy the patience I can employ while waiting for the light right, trying the image from a different angle. Also with all the red tape involved with taking photographs of people, I rather stay away from the whole thing. I have become much more brave at approaching people’s homes, backyards and properties in general to photograph them, but photographing people is still beyond my realm of courage. (Unless I do it the Walker Evans way and release my photos ten years later in fear of being sued). There is a certain amount of control which must be relinquished when photographing people.
There is constancy in buildings – something to always expect, and yet something to always be surprised by. Though I may see a building a hundred times, passing it on the street daily, there can be one instance in which, it shows itself in a different light (pun intended), and everything about it changes. It is my responsibility (and privilege) to experience and capture that exact moment, if I am prepared and capable.
What does it mean to take a photograph?
Being a photographer, I immediately believe that the photograph belongs to the person who captured it with his or her camera. There is no doubt in my mind that buildings, once built, are in the public domain. They are in the street, they are viewed every day, there is no reason why someone, for whatever reason, cannot take a photograph. Wallpaper, clothing – anything that is designed, at one point ‘belongs’ to the designer, but after it is released for others to purchase, to see, to interact with – the designer relinquishes his or her control. Arguably, someone inevitably owns the building and the actual property on which it sits, and so they can control photography taken inside. Unless there is some sort of security threat, they, I do not believe, have the right to control the taking of photographs.
Though I tend to think the same when photographing a person, I am sure I would be of a different opinion if the photo in question were of me. In an intimate setting, yes I think there is an issue of privacy, defamation is possible and many other issues. But out in the public domain, with the mass production of cameras and camera phones, one cannot expect to never end up in a strangers photo. And though entering the frame could be completely accidental, or staged and patiently expected by the photographer, neither, I believe, should be an issue. There is the, obviously, the problem of people who are ill and take photos for personal use and abuse, but this, I think, begins a more political discussion. You can’t control a person like that, but you can control your own actions. I have had my photo taken randomly by a camera phone on a bus, and found it incredibly creepy – but I simply moved away from the person and out of their view.
The reason for many tribes in North African (?) countries and elsewhere to fear photography is pretty simple and really quite understandable. Their belief system explains our souls, our essential being, as having a multitude of layers. When a photograph is taken, one of those layers is trapped within the photograph to create that image and so the subject is one layer closer to ceasing to exist. This belief is actually very close to what Sontag and Barthes spoke of when they referred to the light emanating off a photograph. The exact light that took the photograph of a missing person was absorbed by the camera, which then recorded that photo. That light produced that photo and now allowed Barthes and Sontag to see the image of that person, linking them physically to the person through light.
Composition
What many people are not aware of is the incredible work that occurs in the dark room after the photo is taken. I completed two final prints today – my first two out of approximately sixty to come. And, for the first print, there must be at least twenty scrap test sheets – puzzle pieces that make up the complex areas of the photo, those that have to be tested and retested, burned or dodged. Within every photo that is printed, each area of shadow or light has to be tested, compared, altered – discovered. To make the final composition work, look as coherent and beautiful as it possibly can, many different components have to be finalized first.
I had an incredible day when I was working on my first print – still messing around with shadows and trying to find information in areas of light. I decided, upon the advice of my mentor, to risk it – to risk exposing the light area too much, rather than not enough. If I had decided to only expose it a little bit longer than I had already done, hoping there would be more information, I would never know what information could possibly be lying in the image if I exposed to, say, twice the amount of time as I had previously done. And, amazingly enough, I discovered shadows where previously I thought there were none! It seems quite ridiculous, but it was an incredible find as it brought that portion of the image alive – dancing tree branches on an old and rusty front door – one more piece of the puzzle was complete.
There is a very obvious connection with design in this entire process – once in the darkroom the composition of the photograph becomes a design of components. You must first perfect each component, but, all the while, keeping in mind how it will compare with the rest of the image. You may discover that an area seems too light, missing information, looking slightly under exposed. But, after having exposed that small piece of the picture longer, you find that the whole image now seems colder, less inviting. You discover that, even though on its own the small area seemed much too bright, in the whole of the picture it actually provided a ray of sunlight, of warmth – a destination for the viewer, where he or she could image themselves sitting on a tattered sofa on a porch, basking in the afternoon sun. By taking away that warmth, you change the atmosphere of the photograph and its connection to the viewer.
I have learned to underexpose the shadows and over expose the light – information lurks in areas you would not expect and though our eyes are complex enough to be able to pick out these tonal changes and hidden information, the camera lenses are not capable to see what we see. It is our job to then find what the camera cannot see – or does not know it sees.
