Category Archives: Culture


On the Experience of Beauty

Images for on the Myth of Curation

This article first appeared in Black & White Photography Magazine Issue 217, July 2018

I often find myself with a theme in mind for the next piece I’m writing before I’ve finished the current one – often prompted by the commitment I make to the magazine in the form of a short sentence at the end of each article that outlines next month’s essay. Sometimes these nascent themes appear to me as nothing more substantial than a whisper – a butterfly fluttering in my mind – a slight yet undeniable presence that is hard to grasp.

It is a mark of the creative process (at least mine, that is) that we can commit ourselves to a concrete ‘product’ way before we really have a right to do so. But something usually comes along – the subconscious mind is ever vigilant once the target has been set. And this month’s piece is a fine example of the way the subconscious and the real can intertwine in such a fashion that that original glib promise can be ultimately honoured.

And it is the subconscious which plays a leading role in this month’s disquisition on the subjective experience of beauty. The dictionary definition of beauty is “a combination of qualities, such as shape, colour or form, that pleases the aesthetic senses, especially sight.” But that doesn’t touch on the sensation I feel when I experience something I find beautiful. You can only look to a dictionary for an objective definition of beauty but the personal experience of things that affect the senses is always subjective.

And so this brings me to a walk I was taking a few weeks ago in the leaden London mid winter. It was approaching 7.30am and I was coming to the end of a walk with my dog, Sydney, in Kensington Gardens. The grey light occluded what little colour was on offer from the flora; my mind as dull as the dim lit vista around me. As I approached the northern edge of the park I was walking along one of the avenues lined with huge plain trees which, at this time of year, were denuded and skeletal in their immensity. And then suddenly, in an instant, the sun shone through a crack in the clouds and lit up the world.

Struck, at first, by the awesome transformation I stopped walking and peered up into the branches of the trees. For some reason, at that moment, I experienced a profound, aesthetic sensation of something, the only word for which, is beauty. I stayed rooted to the spot enjoying both the sudden warmth of the sun and the sense of engagement with something awesome in this preternatural vision of the trees. At the same time I was also conscious of an extension of my mind into and amongst the scene of my fascination. As suddenly as it arrived the sun departed, drawing a grey veil back across the world.

I walked on deep in thought. Later, back in my warm studio, two questions occurred to me about the experience that morning and I’ve been trying to unify them since; what is the nature of experienced beauty and to what extent am I, this particular sentient being, required for its sensation. I felt very strongly that had I not been me I would not have felt that same strong, overwhelming sensation. Perhaps someone else would have felt something different, or nothing at all, when faced with the same visual setting.

I was very sure that some part of my consciousness had enjoined with the scene and that without that externalisation of my ‘self’, that personal sensation of something we call beauty, could never have happened. In other words, here was a perfect counter argument to the possibility of objective beauty.

But how, if there was no such thing as an objective form of beauty, could so many of us derive so much pleasure from the work of Wren, Mozart or Durer? I am sure you are aware of the term ‘qualia’. It is the name philosophers have given to the subjective conscious experience. Some believe that there can be a shared sense of qualia – a shared personal sensation of beauty. This would answer the Mozart question and it would certainly point to the existence of objective beauty. But shared experience is really just a multitude of singular experiences felt coincidentally so how can we explain that personal sensation that we experience individually whether in a crowd or on our own?

Andy Clark, the Edinburgh University philosopher and cognitive scientist, believes that our mind exists in many forms externally of our ‘head-locked’ brain. We sense that the mind is passive to experience but many studies have shown that the opposite is true. The mind works by a system of continuous conjecturing. The information coming in is too complex to enable informed, actionable judgements so the subconscious posits theories in response to the cacophony of raw data it receives and makes predictions about the world accordingly. Most of the time these judgements are made seamlessly and are correct so we don’t notice this process and so we step, look, hold etc as we need to and with no sense of the complex system that enables us to do so. In this way fantasy (the mind’s original conjecture about the world around it) becomes fact.

When I looked up into those branches that had recently been transformed with sunlight my mind was tricked for a moment. The dissonance between what was only a few seconds ago with what is now provided my conscious, ever positing mind with a cognitive dissonance. My mind was literally and figuratively, in the trees. The coincidence of experience created a moment of revelation that I sensed as ‘beauty’. My extended mind ‘enjoined’ with the scene and for a brief moment two versions of the world lived side by side; the conjectured and the real.

Because of the speed that this happens there is no time for a sense of self to come to bare on the experience. For an instant, that moment of dual-perception slipped under the net of my adult mind and hit my guileless, childlike, unchecked consciousness right between the eyes.


The Myth of Perfection is Perpetuated by Curators. For Photography the Attempt to Communicate is the Artistic Act – not the Work itself

This article first appeared in Black & White Photography Magazine Issue 216, June 2018

Images for on the Myth of Curation

I tend to believe in myths – especially the ones told on the walls of galleries and museums. The most commonly enjoined myth is that the work you are seeing is the result of a complete concept immaculately realised and perfectly curated. The sinews of genius are threaded through the work on display and the artist (be it a photographer, painter or whatever) is held to be the perfect synthesis of the spirit and material worlds. I know so many photographers (as friends and clients – for whom I make their prints) and I can tell you that the glimmer of genius glowing from every image or work in an exhibition is, in truth, the obscuration of a messy amalgam of dread, pointlessness, self criticism, ennui and perhaps worst of all – outright theft of intellectual property

Recently the Photographers Gallery showed the polaroids made by the film director Wim Wenders in the 70’s and 80’s. The exhibition was titled Instant Stories and it featured the exquisitely framed polaroid prints that Wenders made mostly in the States as he scouted for locations and generally noodled with the form. Wandering around the exhibition the viewer was not given the impression that there was an overarching theme (because none existed), so these ageing instant photos were enough. And it was a good show because Wenders is a consummate artist. Whether you enjoy his films or not, or if you saw the show and thought it a load of piffle that anyone could have done, you cannot deny that Wenders is art. And this is what gave the work its validity.

Images for on the Myth of Curation

Images for on the Myth of Curation

Wenders is constantly in the process of trying to create. His life is art. Unless your life is art you will not make art. The difference between Wenders and someone else is the innate intent to make art. For him, and many others, it is an ongoing process that never stops. Whether he hits his marks with his films or his photography is not the point – the point is that he is not dallying with the form. If Wenders picks up a Polaroid camera even his play is serious because he is committed to visual realisation of an internal dialogue. This exhibition was laudably playful and eschewed the heavy hand of academic contextualisation. The prints were nostalgic and offered tiny glimpses that seemed to embody the inward and outward regard of the photographer, and that was enough.

Images for on the Myth of Curation

Images for on the Myth of Curation

We spend hours of our lives venerating the past because every work ever placed on the walls of a gallery or in the pages of a book has the past in common. The past can conceal the truth. The past allows us, or others we listen to, to paint our own version, our own myth on the work. This myth gives the power of urgency to anything it touches. And that myth is created in the air we breath or more particularly in the pages of the magazines and websites we read. Once someone of media stature has offered their seal of approval we join in with the myth and treat the work, regardless of our own predilections, as if it has concrete meaning. We consumers of art don’t follow the words of critics with sheeplike devotion, rather these views help to solidify and settle the work, positively or negatively, in the mind of the viewer. The danger is that we stop looking with our own eyes and turn artworks into facts.

Images for on the Myth of Curation

Images for on the Myth of Curation

I find most exhibitions boring. This not because the work is no good but because the act of looking is exhausting. I once read that the reason we become very quickly used to certain smells is because our olfactory sensors have finite receptors to individual scents which become quickly satiated thus nullifying the sense of a particular smell. This is what I find when sloping around some museum or other. The work on the wall has become calcified with ‘factness’. I can look at them, I may like them, hate them, love them but mostly I have no feelings at all for the work. It is a triumph If I come out of one exhibition with one fixed image in my mind that I engaged with positively or negatively but that touched me in some way and that I actually remember. Call me a Philistine but I’m often more fascinated by the framing and printing than I am in the prints themselves.

Images for on the Myth of Curation

At the time of writing there is a retrospective of Andreas Gursky’s photography at the Hayward Gallery. It is a spectacular show of his pieces. The precision of the printing is awesome, the vision is immense and the exhibition renders a godlike stature on this popular fine art photographer. But there is only one image I remember and it is shown at the beginning of the exhibition. It is of a football pitch. The title is ‘Zurich 1’ and it was shot in 1985 early on in Gursky’s career. It is a captivating image because in it we can see the nascent artist. It is inquisitive with none of the inevitable knowingness of his later work. This image embodies a sense of the quest made by a young photographer and so it captivates and offers a fuller, more tender vision.

Images for on the Myth of Curation

Images for on the Myth of Curation

Elsewhere in the exhibition we are presented with the work of the great photographer as if they are ‘facts’. We are offered no hint of the energy that was required to make them. It is as if the curators are saying “Fall on your knees and prostrate ye a’fore Him for here is perfection and woe betide ye who shall look away in lassitude for he (or she) is a Sinner against all that the Lord Curator hath offered unto ye…”, or words to that effect.

Images for on the Myth of Curation

Images for on the Myth of Curation

The anguish, development of thought, triumph of mind over matter is often more easily visible in other plastic arts. The painter’s brushstrokes, the sculptor’s chisel marks and the engraver’s ‘bite’ all give an indication, a glimpse of the physical and mental effort to turn dumb material into eloquent work. Photography is a perfectionist’s medium for all the wrong reasons. The myth of perfection often occludes the best intentions of the work. Exhibitions, particularly retrospectives, owe the public and the work a more nuanced airing. The myth of the artist-god must be tempered with the human reality of creation.


The Audience Provides the Measure of Worth

This article first appeared in Black & White Photography Magazine Issue 215, May 2018

Not every photograph published or printed by Henri Cartier Bresson was great. But it is certain that every offering that made it to a public stage from the great man of photography has been written about positively and intelligently just as every artwork credited to Rembrandt is the subject of many great essays and academic theses. It is simple to dismiss the ‘reach’ of an image by ascribing to each work the measure of fame of the photographer or artist who made it but there are lessons for every practitioner here when evaluating the force and depth of their own work. The audience itself is the key to discovering the power of an image.Images for On the Value of an Audience by Alex Scheideman

Tired arguments still persist around the validity of one form of photography over another. The number of times a conversation still occurs in which someone wonders (aloud) whither photography is going when everyone on the planet has a camera, is inumerable. This persistent rumination manifests only insecurity – it is the plaintiff cry of the photographer who doesn’t know who his or her audience is. Where does this particular photographer’s work fit in when all that seems to sell in galleries is massive, blank-faced colour portraits of adolescents or photographs of young people doing drugs and having sex? The irreducible fact is that almost every living photographer finds him or herself to some degree at odds with the mainstream and ignored by the world in general.Images for On the Value of an Audience by Alex Scheideman

To complain that we live in an image saturated era is to ignore how important imagery has become in the digital age. Imagery is now the mainstream of mass communication. Words are being edged out. Media outlets and major brands are finding new ways to communicate with people quickly and meaningfully. In the New York Times there is a piece by Nellie Bowles entitled ‘Welcome to the Post Text Future’ (9th February 2018). The article is a text-lite, image-rich disquisition on the way that images are being appropriated by all manner of agencies; from tech giants to political parties, as we leave words behind.Images for On the Value of an Audience by Alex Scheideman

Every single picture must compete in this new era of image-soup. On the one hand, for example, Instagram is an excellent resource for photographers – it allows for the construction of networks of like minded artists. However, to cope with the vast number of images being posted daily the mechanism for viewing work is necessarily breezy and superficial. Networks on Instagram are not critical ‘forges’. They are more akin to the backslapping communities of traditional camera clubs where little is risked, little is tested. Because of this Instagram is not an effective environment for artistic growth.Images for On the Value of an Audience by Alex Scheideman

Or perhaps work can be placed on a photographer’s own website with the hope that people stop by and spend time getting to know the carefully selected and presented work, allowing the balance of composition, tone and subject to wash over them in a shower of undiscovered talent. It won’t happen – it doesn’t happen. Google Analytics spells it out and it makes pretty grim reading. Bounce rates of close to 90% (a ‘bounce’ happens when someone lands on a homepage and then exits before going deeper into the site) are normal. Even when someone doesn’t ‘bounce’ and looks a little deeper the important word here is ‘little’. The time spent on photography sites is typically under 60 seconds. How much of an impression can a photographer’s work make on anyone in that time?

Images for On the Value of an Audience by Alex Scheideman

So there is a choice; the photographer either has to make pictures more immediately proposessing in order to garner more ‘likes’ on Instagram and Facebook and benefit from the capricious algorythmic rays of attention that result or, alternatively, choose very carefully to whom work is shown and, when it is, to make the viewing a more visceral, intimate and potentially risky experience.

Increasingly photographers are reacting to the ‘Age of Insta’ and choosing to show their work in smaller groups. For example, London’s Photographers Gallery runs a monthly workshop called Portfolio Friday. Participating photographers spend the first half of the day presenting their prints to each other and discussing their work. Then, in the afternoon, each photographer is allocated a small white desk behind which each sits and sets out their prints. The doors are opened to the public who are invited to sit with each photographer in turn and discuss the work on show – table by table. This is a very popular event and you can see why. It offers participating photographers the opportunity to turn the visiting public into knowledgeable experts of their work; a happy or perhaps very depressing experience. The risk that a photographer takes in baring their soul to another human being in such a naked and potentially uncomfortable way will add greatly to the artist’s relationship with their own work.Images for On the Value of an Audience by Alex Scheideman

Seeking the accolades (or perhaps aprobrium) that work deserves is the first commitment any photographer needs to make who wants their work to be relevant and worthwhile in a world already drowning in imagery. Criticism is the lifeblood of artistic growth. Trusting others with work is the only way to evaluate artistic development. The question that every photographer has asked themselves – why do I take pictures? – will be answered only when work is appraised by an intelligent, inquisitive and potentially critical public. It is up to photographers to seek that connection. Cartier Bresson was not born great. We did, the viewers of his work, made him great.


A Return to Film Confirms an Indelible Human Need for Connection with the Medium

This article first appeared in Black & White Photography Magazine Issue 214, April 2018

Images for On the Enduring Value of Film

The maxim goes that the most expensive thing the average person buys, after a house, is a car. Well, in my case, that ‘next most expensive thing’ is a film scanner. We (at the Flow printing studio) decided last year to bite the bullet and respond to the growing demand for film scanning and dive headfirst into very expensive and very old technology. In B+W 211 I argued that, through the prism of the change from film to digital we are at a fascinating nexus between the beginning and the end of the beginning of photography – this argument sits roughly on the same timeline (but not exactly) as the shift from film to digital. But in the last couple of years we have seen a 200% increase in the number of rolls of film we are processing and, subsequently, the scans we are making. What is driving this technological reverse and what does it tell us about the medium?

Images for On the Enduring Value of Film

Please allow me to belabour you with a couple of personal details which are essential in laying the groundwork for this month’s polemic. I have two occupations beyond writing; proprietor of a photographic printing studio (FLOW) and photographer. When I set up my first commercial darkroom in 2004 the world was film. Digital was insurgent but for most photographers who hadn’t yet invested in a ‘Leaf back’ the unthinking default was whichever film you favoured. For my own work I chose, with little thought or variation, Tri-X (which I rated at 200 and developed 3:1 20C 7.5 mins in Perceptol since you didn’t ask – a great scanning recipe incidentally) and for clients’ work I would develop film in D76 ‘deep tanks’ unless requested to do otherwise. Negative colour (C41) films like Kodak Portra and Fuji Pro (a personal favourite) were introduced in the early noughties to a booming professional photography market. And then came the ‘great switch’. Kodak released a digital SLR and virtually paid photographers to use it. The software was there and Apple made computers capable of easily coping with large file sizes in a way that non-computer type people could enjoy.

Images for On the Enduring Value of Film

By 2005 the great switch was underway and unstoppable. I invested in my first Canon 5D and, at the studio, we bought our first Epson inkjet printers which now carried pigment inks in ten colours. The creative energy was now digital. By 2008 we had stopped processing film and had all but closed the darkroom. Digital was here and it was fully backed by every major player in the market. For a company like ours that existed on commercial terms we had no option but to go with the Flow, so to speak. And, personally, I loved the new medium. Less messy, more dependable for assignments, more latitude than film – and for me – an untechnical photographer at best, a massive benefit in the loss of sleepless nights hoping that the photographs I had shot latently existed prior to development on some polyester rolls in a bag somewhere. Had I counted the rolls properly and had I argued hard enough to not have them X-rayed on my way back to London? Digital fixed all of these insecurities and led us into the endlessly mutable world of bit depth and pixels where anything was possible given access to processing power and skills.

Images for On the Enduring Value of Film

But we humans never make houses on shifting sand. Because that is what digital photography is – a permanently shifting base on which nothing can be built to last, nothing can be relied on to not have been changed. We humans are endlessly mutable ourselves – we are free to change our minds at will but it is in our nature to settle. To photography the digital era has represented a great unsettlement. What is the enduring value of anything if it changes from what it is today? Digital photographic technology, for all its wonderful benefits, is not a human medium. It is essential to humanity that we have the technology but it is an alien form that we humans can never truly own because we can never directly engage with the technology that makes the pictures and we can never call a digital photograph ‘finished’.

Images for On the Enduring Value of Film

And so, as I report from the ‘coalface’ of the photographic world where my business has watched the comings and goings of photographic technology I can now tell you that film is back. And in a big way. Shot mainly by younger photographers who have grown up in the Photograscene era (see B+W TP210) film is making a huge comeback. I would say that C41 processing of colour film (Kodak Portra 400 and 800 in particular) is where most of the resurgence can be found but we handle a lot of Tri-X, Plus-X, FP4 and HP5 as well. For these photographers who enjoy the quality of film there are many more reasons that they are eschewing digital. They love the restrictions, or immutability, of the analog medium. They love that you need to be careful with your exposure; how many and how shot. They love that they get a physical rendition of the light that they experienced at the time of exposure. They love that a sense of place comes as standard with an exposed negative, they love the grain that tells that story of the chemistry that has made their image. They love that an exposure can be wrong. And for this new understanding of photography we have digital to thank. For how could we have been forced to re-evaluate film if it weren’t for an attractive interloper encouraging us to look with new eyes on the long held object of our hearts’ desire.

Images for On the Enduring Value of Film

And so we bought a big Imacon scanner which monthly payments make me shudder. We can’t deny all that digital has bought us. Scanning film is, if you will, a very happy medium. But we invested in response to a new appreciation of photographic process. A new acknowledgment, consciously or not, of the essential, immutable human particle that is present in film and of which, digital is utterly devoid.

On the Argument for Providing Questions Not Answers – ESSAY FROM BLACK+WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY MAGAZINE EDITION 213

On the Responsibility of Photographers to Provide Questions not Answers

This article first appeared in Black & White Photography Magazine Issue 213, March 2018

Evidence – the word weighs heavily on photographers. A photograph, although known to be the least reliable of artefacts (as I’ve written in these pages before) carries the mythical weight of ‘evidence’ – evidence that something actually happened. A photograph is a myth disguised as a fact. Photographers of all varieties might be better off appraising the substantive weight of a photograph in a more reliable way – as that of the reliable questioner rather than the harbinger of unquestionable truth. The maximum evidential value of a photograph is found in the questions it raises but never in answers it importunes.

When we pick up a camera and frame a shot we are becoming expert in one thing – the composition of that image at that time. Certain photographers like Antoine D’Agata and Antonin Kratochvil have sometimes eschewed deliberate composition but most photographers use the viewfinder both to include the elements that they see as necessary and to exclude all those that are not. This calculation in any composition will necessarily leave almost the entire world out of the image. What we, the viewers, will see of the photographer’s gaze at the moment of exposure is the sum total of everything that wasn’t excluded in the real-time editing process that goes into taking a picture.

The resulting photographic view from any single exposure cannot be relied on as an objective truth that will be received by everyone in the same way. We (and I include the photographer themselves in this) cannot possibly triangulate all the available data and come up with an objective truth. There are exceptions to this such as forensic photography where prosaic and reliably gathered data can perhaps provide evidence of an objective truth but, for most other purposes we have to rely on the view being presented to us as evidence that the photographer was witness to the events as depicted and that this depiction reliably communicates the most urgent and truthful aspect of the scene in question. This assumption relates as much to landscape photography as it does to images of conflict. In almost all cases the photographer is judge and jury on what constitutes the best image. We have only his or her say to go on. This means that every photograph is subjective and has no inalienable claim to objective truth.

In the last paragraph I’ve laid out why we should view any narrative depicted in a photograph with suspicion but I excluded images made for purely abstract, artistic reasons – images that attempt to communicate something that is, perhaps, unsayable in any other way. A photographer need not tell his viewer how life is lived. But a photographer can raise questions about existence that force the viewer to reflect on the conditions of their own existence. Alternatively, when it comes to aesthetics we might tire quickly of someone showing us a picture of something that they believe contains a complete explication of objective beauty. However we can become transfixed when we see the work of a photographer whose aesthetic approach is a private journey of comprehension on which we are invited to become fellow travellers. When we sense that the photographer is showing us a glimpse of their attempt to understand the world – the questions they are asking themselves – without showing us their conclusions, then we can join them on their own journey without being excluded by anything so crude as an attempt at a statement of fact.

To give you two example of very different photographers whose work has enduring power owing to the questions they raise rather than the conclusions they draw, please consider the work of Tony Ray-Jones and Saul Leiter. Ray-Jones’s seminal 1974 book, A Day Off, sets out in documentary form to show the British at leisure. It has become one of the great works of British documentary photography not because it defines the subject but because it raises the right questions. Ray-Jones was too sensitive to believe that his work could attempt to define the British at play. By allowing his pictures to trace, with the lightest of touches, the form of the people and the environment he sort to depict, he allows something grand to happen; the viewer must raise questions of their own relationship with the world. If you’re British then you will consider the images against your own experience of the people you know and the country you live in. If you are foreign to Anglo Saxon culture, when it is set so lyrically as it is in the pages of this great book, you will be forced to consider your own.

Saul Leiter raises questions of universality which do not seek to represent any particular culture or formal organisation. Through the use of colour and form Leiter queries what it means to live in a world which is abstract until we impose meaning on it. For Leiter there is no objective meaning to be found in his work. We understand that he is feeling his way, navigating the world image by image. It is futile for artists and documenters to co-opt photography to provide confirmation of their discovery of a certain truth. It is not possible to do more than capture the sense of a thing, to offer compositions to which it is impossible to append a full stop.

Notes on the Images

These images were shot in the Marlborough Sound which is the expanse of water connecting the North and South islands of New Zealand. There is no way of defining this place (or any other) so the best I can do is to break the whole into tiny pieces. I focus on some of them and hope that, in presenting them together, I can raise enough questions in the minds of the viewers that provoke an instinctive reaction and through this a connection with the place depicted.


Why photography cannot be judged along with other artforms- ESSAY FROM BLACK+WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY MAGAZINE EDITION 212

Why photography cannot be judged along with other artforms
This article first appeared in Black & White Photography Magazine Issue 212, February 2018

What is a photograph? asked Roland Barthes in his seminal book Camera Obscura. An answer to this question is being attempted in every fine art photography MA course. However, the medium’s purpose and definition will not be found in the colleges and universities but in the relationship photography has with the people who use it most, i.e. you and me.

It is long since anyone questioned the right of photography to be considered a high art form. Through practioners such as Andy Warhol, Chuck Close, Bill Viola and Cindy Sherman photography has secured its place as a medium of high art. But unlike other media, like painting and sculpture, photography resists categorisation as being the exclusive preserve of high art. This is photography’s great strength.

Photography is a huge genre but, unlike painting, it has many guises. These facets include; art, science, journalism, family snapshots, portraiture to name just a few. For our colleges to question the nature of photography and to try to guide students to find a new way to use it does not fundamentally alter the nature of photography because the medium is used across so many different cultural platforms. This is in direct contrast to the questioning by art colleges as to what the nature of painting is, for example.

Painting is a medium that is entirely artistic in the sense that it is only engaged with for the purposes of art. If one university is to examine the nature of painting and one of its students were to rise in status and visibility and paint according to a set of newly minted attitudes and techniques, then the very nature of what it means ‘to paint’ might be fundamentally altered. This new approach to the canvas wil,l in turn, filter down to the work of all painters in the same way that haute couture is the aesthetic elder sister to the more homely, pret a porter.

By contrast a college which implores its students to find new pathways in photography will have little bearing on the wider development of photographic process. This is not to say that photography is not a worthy medium for the highest level of artistic enquiry or that it shouldn’t occupy a place amongst the other great genre that spawn the greatest contemporary art. Photography is and always will be a means of artistic expression and should be studied and practised at the highest level as a means of interrogating the human condition.

If painting were to disappear, or at least the techniques taught in schools, then the entire artform would cease to progress. Compare that with photographic development. If art schools stopped teaching photography what would happen? The answer to this is that photographic technology, technique and its whole absorption into the mainstream of cultural life would continue unabated. And not just continue, it would blossom and develop at the rate and speed that a human population hungry to record itself would push it.

Cultural phenomena that appear within the realms of science, technology and art cannot come from the colleges but from the gatekeepers to the new connected culture that is social media. The most important cultural tendency of recent years is unquestionably the ‘selfie’.

The selfie is what happens when humans and technology combine in a dynamic form (literally and metaphorically) of self expression – an expression impossible without ubiquitous access to photography. This cultural meme adopted by so many people with access to the technology and means of dissemination was not taught in schools yet it’s effect on society as a whole is huge. The art schools can only react to it and academics can only comment on it. The selfie is by no means the only cultural form of expression that has occurred completely independently of the art schools. Photojournalism came about as technology gave new ways of gathering evidence.

Photography wasn’t an ideal that was discussed in universities to which industry reacted – it was the opposite. Industry developed new technologies and we, ever questing, inspired humans, set those new machines to our purpose. Photography is a medium born out of necessity. Painting, sculpture and other plastic art forms are not. They may be born out of the necessary human compulsion to express itself but they are not connected to the human need to advance through technology. Many great photographers have attended art school but few greats have emerged from ‘fine art photography’ MA courses. Art is a state of being, a permanently evolving reaction to the world. Photography is a technology where art and humanity meet but photography will always be its own maser.

Have We Experienced the End of the Beginning of Photography?- ESSAY FROM BLACK+WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY MAGAZINE EDITION 211

Have we experienced the end of the beginning of photography?
This article first appeared in Black & White Photography Magazine Issue 211, January 2018

Assuming that the Astronomer Royal, Martin Rees, and a few other notable thinkers and scientists aren’t right then human civilisation is set to last a bit longer. And, although, as Mark Twain said, history doesn’t repeat itself but it often rhymes, we can be reasonably sure that we have a few more centuries to go, at least even if these Brexit infected times look like the End of Days has begun.

Boys Playing Football, Taroudant

Lets agree that what we call photography started in about 1830 give or take a few years. And now, in 2017, some 190 years later we are where we are photographically speaking. That is to say that we have moved from the realm of brown bottles containing poisonous substances to the bland world of flat, shiny bricks designed for chatting that also happen to have small lenses on them.

Poultry Seller, Taroudant

Evidence that human beings have shown signs of an innate drive to record the world around them since before we were human would make it safe to assume that, if we have a future then photography has a future too. If this is the case, and I surely I hope it is, then where can we place ourselves, right now, in the development of photography and how will we be written about by future historians? How will photography look and what will shape it as it develops? The answer to this last question is perhaps for another piece but let’s continue to examine the unique time in the development of photography that we inhabit.

I wonder, of all the people who take pictures today, what proportion of us has ever taken a picture on film. We are living in a unique time because there are so many of us around who grew up and, indeed, remember a time before digital. I can recall going to one of the first demonstrations of Photoshop in the early Nineties when it was still just a tool for manipulating film originated images (having been scanned on the ‘system’ as it was known).

Man, Taroudant

Lets make another assumption; when did the digital era start? For me it started in about 2004 so lets say for the sake of historical accuracy the digital era started in 2000. Thats only seventeen years ago – roughly 11% of the time that photography has existed. And how far and fast has the technology developed since then? This means that you and I live in a really special time in the development of photography. Future historians will call this an age of transition from one kind of science to another, from one way of thinking about photography to another.

View froim the Roof of the Palais Salaam, Taroudant 2011

Mohamad IV of Morocco, Taroudant

To make my argument work I have to make several more assumptions. A new one I’m going to posit is that the purely chemical based era of photography represents the beginning of the medium whereas the advent of digital technology heralded the inevitable mastering of photography by machines for the purpose for which machines were invented, i.e. rapid and wide dissemination and consumption. We can describe this transition in another way; the silver halide era of photography was about the recording of experience for almost exclusively personal consumption. As technology advanced, the medium was taken from the private and into the public domain as mechanisation made distribution more possible.

Rebuilding the Wall Around Taroudant

In this way a photograph has gone from being a private document to a public record. Put another way, photography has grown up just as a child does; first spending all its years in its own private world and then, as it becomes an adult, moving into the world at large.

Taroudant by Alex Schneideman

Another way that photography has recently come of age, linked inevitably to the arguments already outlined here, is the way that a photograph is consumed by the viewer. The earliest photographic impressions, fugitive as they were, would have been held as delicately and preciously in the regard of the viewer as a fledgling bird fallen from the nest.

Taroudant by Alex Schneideman

Rapidly, as images became first ‘fixable’ and then reproducible, the value that we placed in each reproduction diminished making the content of the image more valuable than the print itself (this is another essay for another issue!). As the inherent value of the photograph has changed so has the viewer and this change in relationship between consumer and medium accounts, in a substantial way, for the way photography has grown as an art form and a technology.

We who are alive today and active photographically have a unique part to play in the continuing development of the medium. Even our children are returning to film, hugely fortunate that the chemicals, techniques and expertise still readily exist for voyages of discovery into outdated yet mysterious photochemical reactions. The past is chemical and the future is digital. The only time that we will ever straddle the beginning and the end of the beginning of the medium is now.

What value does black and white photography have in a world of colour?- ESSAY FROM BLACK+WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY MAGAZINE EDITION 210

What value does black and white photography have in a world of colour?
This article first appeared in Black & White Photography Magazine Issue 210, Winter 2017

We are now in the third photographic century. What is the continued relevance of black and white photography in a colour filled world? Or, in other words, what is the argument for monochrome representations of a polychromatic world. I don’t want to teach you to suck eggs but it might be beneficial to this topic if we remind ourselves of the history that has led us out of the dark age of non-photography to where we are now; an age that may be described, by the sociologists of many millennia hence, as the beginning of the ‘Photograscene’ era – the era which will not exist without photography.

All early emulsions were only able to record one of the primary colours. The first emulsions were made purely of silver halide which is only sensitive to blue and UV light (hence the astonishing white-blue eyes of portraits of the era) and insensitive to the other two primary colours; red and green. Then, in 1873, a German mineralogist called Hermann Vogel, discovered that by adding a dye to the emulsion he could extend the sensitivity to larger areas of the spectrum. So now film became ‘Orthochromatic’; sensitive to green and blue, but still red did not register. Red tones still registered as dark areas in an image.

An ‘all-seeing’ emulsion was the result of Vogel’s continued work adding dyes and altering emulsion base colour which resulted in the first panchromatic film; a film that could see red, green and blue. Through a process known as additive colour it became possible to render a full colour moving image by combining three black and white (panchromatic) images with different colour filters. Known as Kinemacolor or Prizma Color this process gained popularity in the UK and US and several colour movies were made this way in the early years of the 20th century. Unfortunately it was very expensive and there was some industrial squabbling between the inventors of the respective processes which critically slowed the early advance of colour film making.

However, the failure of the movie industry to adopt the new panchromatic film meant that this new monochrome emulsion, responsive to all areas of the spectrum was of massive benefit to photographers and still camera manufacturers such as Leica who adapted the 35mm wide film stock to the purposes of taking brilliant quality ‘panchromatic’ black and white images.

By 1935 Kodak Eastman had created the ‘Tripack’ film that became known as ‘Kodachrome’. And then in 1941 they introduced a way of making prints from the transparencies so now photographers had a way of reproducing and disseminating visions of the world in something like a natural colour spectrum. But what was added in the way of colour was deemed by many to ‘take something away’ from the power of a monochrome photographic image. This paradox pertains today and perhaps nowhere more than in the pages of this highly regarded publication, dedicated as it is to monochrome photography.

What is it that still draws people to a representation of the world without colour? As I write this I am on a train travelling from London to Crewkerne in Dorset. The view through the windows is gorgeous, with that peculiar (to southern England) mix of bright greens and purple blue that are the fields and sky on this early Autumn day. I’ve taken a picture out of the train window and I’m looking at it in colour and black and white in an attempt to understand the value of each. Here goes my explanation…

The colour version is informative in a literal sense. And, once I’ve removed myself from the scene, and I take a look at this picture in a few weeks when the weather turns bad, perhaps I’ll derive a pleasure from the combination of colour and tone as well as the bucolic scene it represents. Turning to the black and white version I am confronted with an interpretation of the scene. It records the terrain as faithfully as the colour version and it is clear that the sun is shining in a cloudless sky but here the meaning of the two images bifurcates. The reduction in optical data offered by the monochrome image requires greater engagement and subconscious insertion of ourselves into the image than the colour image requires. In the case of the latter our brains are tricked into thinking that all the information available is there which has a deadening effect on our imaginations rendering the image more a depiction rather than a human interpretation of a scene.

There is also an effect of simplification that is afforded by monochrome images that lends them better to the job of telling a story in one shot. A photograph’s essential elements can be manifested or hidden making the monochrome image a much more graphic pictorial representation of the world. In this way a black and white picture is more a myth than a fact; a quality to which we humans are perennially drawn. Colour photography (without post-enhancement) is necessary for photojournalism as colours are part of truth telling but ‘beautiful’ colour is often, as mentioned above, appreciated as a deviation from ‘the natural’. Digital raw files are so devoid of deviation that they need to be deviated through process to make them attractive to the human eye.

Lastly, a monochrome representation of a scene will always be a man-made interpretation. Nature is colour; man’s imagination can encompass black and white only through the complex combination of the neural system and psychology peculiar to human beings. Only we humans choose to reduce the values of nature to shades of grey to better represent the externalised manifestation of our innermost vision.

Black and white photography has long been a choice rather than a necessity. As we travel further and further away from the monochrome-only era some artists will always choose to tell their visual stories through monochrome images because of, and not despite, their deviation from nature.


On the Nature of Location
This article first appeared in Black & White Photography Magazine Issue 209, December 2017


Location of Self photos by Alex Schneideman

If I were to take a walk down your street and take some pictures would the resulting images owe more to the physical nature your street or to me? Perhaps you might also walk with me and take some pictures simultaneously – would your photographs of the world you know so well be qualitatively different from mine? Or does the person behind the camera provide the viewer with the ‘real’ location – with the actual topology and events recorded merely playing a part in the creation of the image? In other words, should we consider that a photographer might become ‘a location’ in their own right through the medium of photography.


Thank you for bearing with me during that tortuous opening paragraph. In Geoff Dyer’s book, The Ongoing Moment (2005) in which he suggests a narrative for the history of photography, he considers that some photographers may be considered as ‘locations’ in their own right. Dyer argues that some photographers’ engagement with the world they inhabit is so complete and inextricably linked and borne out over time that no matter what (or where) they photograph their images accrue a certain immutable sense of the photographer regardless of the subject matter.

Dyer offers the work of James Nachtwey as an example of a photographer who’s work bends location to his imagery. For those acquainted with Nachtwey’s work then you will know that he may be considered Capa’s rightful heir. Nachtwey has travelled the globe (and continues to do so) for over thirty years. His pictures of war, depravation and disenfranchisement have illustrated the dark side of humanity. But in every image there is the sense of the man himself. A man who has made himself a conduit for all that is terrifying and humane. In Nachtwey’s work is an ‘everyman’ view of the world – should ‘everyman’ have the courage and creative drive of James Nachtwey. Nachtwey is the photographer of all that is left behind; from the bloody handprints left on a living room wall in Pec, (August 1999) to the faces of Albanian Kosovan women and children fleeing war in a truck (Kosovo August, 1999). The hand prints and faces tell the same story and it is this living history that has become the ‘location’ of Nachtwey’s work. Even ghosts need their story to be told and many have chosen Nachtwey as their bard.

But not every photographer will inhabit the world as Nachtwey. Yet perhaps it is the ‘holy grail’ of photography – to achieve the unalloyed ‘voice’ that speaks of the world that we individually inhabit and record. A world that, in other words, is less dependant on physical location than the fact it is recorded by the individual photographer. Although physical location can’t be denied in a photograph it can be seen as of lesser importance if you consider that the same scene could be photographed by two photographers and the resulting images would almost certainly be different. Different aspects of the same scene may be examined simultaneously and to what would we adduce the difference in resulting images? Any variation in vision would come directly from the particular psychology of each photographer and from what each determined as being most salutary or captivating. A reading of the photographic process, in this case, finds that the photographer becomes primary to the location and the location provides a canvas on to which the photographer must project their own sensitivities and proclivities.

What hasn’t been touched on yet is the question of prolificacy. We cannot claim to exist photographically in a notional ‘location’ without making many, many images. A photographer who occasionally and with little conviction presses the shutter on his iPhone is much less likely to create a world for others to inhabit through scarce imagery. There is no body of evidence or road map for the way this photographer inhabits the world. And so the body of work created by photographers who make images with a consistent effort of will and attention will develop a location that only that photographer may inhabit.


As Dyer says, towards the end of The Ongoing Moment, “Nachtwey’s photographs are a kind of destiny for the medium as a whole, a place where photography has always had the potential to end up.” Those last three words are interesting – “to end up”. They imply that, in some way, all of photography has culminated in the work of one man. At the time of writing this book perhaps it could have been said that Nachtwey’s work was the apotheosis of photography but twelve years have passed since then and, of course, new photographers with new visions have appeared. It is high time that Dyer’s brilliant book was updated. Much has happened in the interim and new themes have emerged in photography that deserve Dyer’s particular consideration.

Who are the gatekeepers of the Truth? – ESSAY FROM BLACK+WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY MAGAZINE EDITION 208

Who are the gatekeepers of the Truth?
This article first appeared in Black & White Photography Magazine Issue 208, November 2017

There is always a version of the truth that is nothing more than a story. Why burden photographers with the sole responsibility for veracity?

You know the adage, the one about lies and cameras and the negative correlation between the two. Its stuck because its true. A camera can’t tell lies anymore than a banana or a bottle of Campari can but, then again, I have never sought the truth from a banana or a Campari (soda with a slice of orange and a few lumps of ice, although… come to think of it…). The growth of critical thought around photography led to the enshrining of one of its great strengths in the public consciousness – that because a camera is a mechanical light recorder with no brain of its own it cannot possibly tell an untruth or record anything other than the pristine truth.

In an act of magical cultural development some of the glimmer of irreducible truth transferred itself from the capabilities of the camera to the eventual prints that were made from its compulsive ‘blinks’. Even today, we ascribe to the photograph the quality of ‘fact’. A photograph is an artefact which, at its irreducible base, is a statement that something took place and was recorded the way it is shown here today by virtue of it being ‘a photograph’. Today we are used to questioning the veracity of images – first ‘the System’, then Photoshop and now countless apps – have eroded to the point of zero the reliability of the ‘fact’ of a photograph but for the purposes of this article we are not concerned with the wholesale ‘Shopping’ of images rather the image itself as defined by the frame or its eventual crop.

I have written before about Nick Ut’s famous Napalm Girl (1972) photograph shot in the midst of the Vietnam war.. A young girl runs down a road away from the most hideous experience imaginable. She has been napalmed by a US airforce attack and her nakedness adds to the horror of the scene. For me the anguish on the face of the boy on the left the picture is as affecting but we have all come to the know this picture as Napalm Girl. For a long time after the picture was first printed in newspapers the soldier/journalist seen casually reloading his camera on the right of the frame was cropped out, perhaps because it reduced the anti-US/anti-war power of the image. The role of the (seemingly) oblivious ‘man on the right’ confused the story and took the emotional power away from the heavy drama the rest of the image depicts.

Many people questioned the veracity of this image. Not because of any questions arising from the crop but from a disbelief of the scene it portrayed and a suspicion that it was merely anti-Vietnam war propaganda. President Nixon questioned the truth of the image but it wasn’t until Nick Ut (corroborated by ITN) described the circumstances in which the image was made that the truth of the image was ‘established’. This image is an excellent example of how one picture can represent various ‘truths’ because it shows how, depending on the sensibilities of the viewer, belief in an image regardless of its provenance, is subjective.

We are all well aware of the skill of a film editor who cuts together a documentary and how subjective that process can be. We take it for granted that the truth as revealed to us in a TV ‘doc’ needs to be appreciated through the filtered awareness of how programs are made and the experience of living in a media world saturated by partisan ownership and the powerful demands of the market or politics. But for some reason the simple still photograph carries an air of truth that is not accorded to other media. There is a myth about the photographer that is not granted to other documenters or artists. This myth goes right to the heart of how photography has been popularised by illuminating talents – brave talents like Robert Capa.

In his account of the 2nd World War, Slightly of of Focus (the most exciting and entertaining photographic account I’ve read) Capa describes his war. Needless to say it is riveting – just the opening chapters about how he managed to arrive at the theatre of conflict from New York are worth the cover price. Capa lived to take pictures and by the age of 25 was already being described as the greatest war photographer in the world. But that doesn’t mean he was always telling the truth. Capa has been criticised for his image of a ‘Falling Soldier (Spanish Civil War, 1938) – it can’t have been photographed in the way that the 22 year old Capa described – but that photograph is famous not because of its truthfulness but because it was understood to encapsulate a moment of truth. The picture is still Capa’s most famous despite its ragged history.

It is part of the human condition to discern between fact and fiction. At the very least we must accept that truth is a subjective concept. As Gary Winogrand said, ‘There is nothing as mysterious as a fact clearly described…’. Photography is a storytelling medium which intersects occasionally with the truth. How and when this happens is up to us each to decide.

NOTE Whilst researching this article I came across the Time website which still features the cropped version… And to add to the mystery I also discovered that it may not have been the US who dropped the napalm that day that burned the little girl. It is authoritatively claimed that it was the South Vietnamese Airforce who napalmed their own villages in support of their ground forces. In other words, this time the Americans had nothing to do with it. Truth, especially when it comes to a single image, is a slippery beast…