Skin Deep

When I took Art History, I reflected back on how much I always loved the French Academic painters of the 18th and 19th centuries, and how their work still inspires my portrait photography today. We were asked in that class to choose a particular piece from an artist of our choice and write an analysis of the piece. While not my favorite painter, I chose Jean-Baptiste Greuze, and his work entitled La Cruche Cassée, or The Broken Vessel. It was painted in 1771. (see photo below)

While it has been joked to death that the French painters of that period were obsessed with painting women in varying states of nudity, one must look less at that aspect and more at what the deeper meaning is behind the work independent of what is seen on the surface. Often, images had political or social messages behind them that someone who ignorantly just sees a "drunk naked girl" would easily miss.

In the case of this particular work by Greuze, there are numerous political and social statements potentially represented in the image. It's important to understand that images like the one above were not painted all in one sitting. The woman in the painting was likely brought in for two separate sittings; one to paint her face, and the second to paint her body. It's also possible the face and body belong to two different women. The setting of the painting was likely not added until later, including her dress, the flowers, and the broken pitcher itself.

So what does this painting mean? We don't have a statement from Greuze that lays it out cleanly, but what we have is a young lady clutching her dress to her body as if caught off guard. Her pitcher is broken, perhaps from a fall. It's easy to imagine her before the incident, carrying a spray of flowers that the water in the pitcher would have been used for. She slips and falls, shattering the pitcher and her flowers scattering. She scrambles to her feet, trying to collect herself and her flowers. Her hair is fixed in a way reflecting upper-class Victorian life, so perhaps she is a lady's maid, or even a daughter of an aristocrat. Regardless, her having fallen, her dress ruined and her knees likely skinned would demand an explanation from her father, or if a lady's maid, from her Lady. This shows the subservience of women in her time. However, perhaps the broken pitcher represents something deeper. Maybe it represents her hymen, her flowers her purity, and the disheveled dress the white veil of virginity she must keep intact in order to be married one day and not be ruined socially. In her time, her husband would expect to see blood on the sheets on their wedding night, or he could have her destroyed socially after immediately divorcing her for infidelity. Or, what if her broken pitcher and scattered flowers and ruined dress (and exposed breast) indicate she has fallen victim to sexual assault on her way home? In her social class, this would not matter to her future husband--if she had been robbed of her maidenhead, willingly or unwillingly, she was damaged goods, and no better than a disgrace to him. Perhaps the gargoyle behind her represents the dark future she will likely experience from this untimely tragedy, and the golden pillar the opulent aristocracy that will now forever be separated from her grasp by that shadow.

Even further, perhaps she is a young woman on her wedding night. The white gown she is wearing is perhaps her wedding dress. Charlotte Brontë, in footnotes from her book Vilette gave an explanation of part of the purpose of the white wedding dress. If her newly betrothed husband decided to claim her immediately, and swept her upward after the ceremony and carried her to the bedchamber to consummate the marriage, the red blood stain would contrast cleanly against the white gown. (Brontë, 2011) Maybe this is what has taken place, and she had gone to fetch flowers for their bed, but before she could scatter them across their sheets, her husband appeared from his dressing room, throws her down on the floor, takes what is his, and left her to pick up the mess. Her flower and vessel and breast are left broken and claimed by him, forever.

Is this a sad image in either instance? It's beyond sad; it's horrific. However, all of these are possibilities, and painters like Greuze were often (like me) non-traditional, artistic men. They used the naked female form to make a statement about society's backward and unbalanced sexual rights.

References:

Andersen, M. L. (2015). Thinking about women: Sociological perspectives on sex and gender. Hoboken, NJ: Pearson Education.

Brontë, C. (2011). Vilette. London: Arcturus.

Greuze, J. (1771). The broken vessel [Painting]. Grande Louvre, Paris, France.

 

Opportunities for Excellence

Years ago, on a photography message board I am a member of on Reddit, a challenge was given out to portrait photographers (or any photographers, really) to take the one image from a particular session that you felt was your worst-shot photo, and turn it into a masterpiece. This was an exercise that was two-fold in it's purpose. First, to challenge you to make what you consider the worst into the best. Second, it was to remind you that what you may see as your failures are actually the opportunities for excellence.

Think about that for a moment.

Your failures are opportunities for excellence.

Ever since that day, and it's been years since, I have implemented that challege into every session I capture.

You see, if you were working with a person in that session, and not just a bowl of fruit, you weren't just using your time, you were using your subject's time. That person chose you to capture this moment. They could have been doing a dozen other things, but they chose to be in front of your camera at that moment. They sacrificed a part of their life so that you might immortalize it.

They will never get that moment back.

So don't you dare waste it by clicking the "trash" button on the image you see as the one you botched.

On with this blog!

Photography has become (like most art) a thing that is seen as cheap and not very valuable. Nobody wants to pay for it anymore. You'd pay a plumber, an auto mechanic, a carpet cleaner, a cook, and a babysitter, but the photographer is seen as an artist...someone who does this for fun only.

If you post on Facebook that you are looking for a photographer, you'll get dozens of recommendations from dozens of people. Half these photographers are the recommdender's relative (Aunt Karen, for example) who just got a camera for Christmas. They love taking pictures and will do it for twenty bucks. Another 25% are amateurs who do okay work, but probably haven't been in business for very long, and likely aren't even licensed. The remaining 25% are actual pros who charge what they are worth.

So why should you hire that professional photographer from your hometown? That little man or woman who has lived in your city for five, ten, or even twenty years who you see at the grocery store and/or at church on Sunday? What's the difference between them and say, Olan Mills? Or Aunt Karen, even?

Let's change the subject for a moment, and talk about baking.

Aunt Karen (if she's not good at baking) will be happy to make you a cake for $20. She'll buy a box mix for $2, a tub of frosting for $2, add oil and eggs, and bake. Her cake will taste pretty okay if she does it right, but it will taste just like everyone else's who used that same mix.

Olan Mills (or similar, since they are no longer in busines) will also be happy to bake you a cake for $20. They bake hundreds of cakes a week, and they all look the same, except with different color frosting and decorations on top. They'll even write your name on the cake. You'll buy it, walk out, and they move onto the next customer. They won't remember you tomorrow, and they don't need to. You'll be back when you need another cake, after all. The money that you paid them will go into the pockets of their CEO who lives in New York.

The little hometown professional (think: that one lady who makes wedding and birthday cakes out of her home, and uses her grandmother's recipe that she won't share) will make you a cake for $50. She uses all her own ingredients, makes everything from scratch, stresses over every last detail, and when you take a bite of it, it tastes so good your eyes roll back. When you tell her how good it is, she cries a little inside because her grandmother would be so proud of her. She spent 4 hours on that cake, and every bite is worth every penny.

And the money you give her will buy her kids new shoes.

Ok, so now you know what you need to do next time you want pictures done, so I'm gonna get off that soap box.

The five or six people who read this blog will perhaps share it with others, who knows?

So when you hire a profesional photographer, what (other than the session) are you paying for? I decided to take the "worst image" from a recent session and show you. I opened the image, and each time I made a significant editing step, I saved a copy. I'll show you all my steps below, and note the changes. (Click each photo to enlarge for detail.)

Image opened in Adobe Camera Raw.

Transferred to Photoshop. This image is "straight out of camera". The bracketing is a little off, colors are muted (in-camera at my request) and UV light is making the image blue. The light leak on the top left is because my lens hood was damaged by a photography student, and I like the effect, so that hood isn't broken, it's priceless.

Removed UV cast, adjusted light levels slightly.

Bracketed correctly, cropped for rule of thirds.

Popped a bit of fill-lighting in her face, because the sun was super bright that day.

Eyes brightened (because of the sun's cast) and shadows adjusted.

Soft vignette added to bring out the background a bit.

Natural shadows on her face redefined, evened out brights and darks on her face.

Removed tiny skin blemishes caused by the sun being so harsh. I never overdo skin smoothing, because I want people, not Barbie dolls.

Tiny pop of light on her face just under her eye, and my stamp added. What was once my worst-shot image is something I put my heart into, because Kayla Green is MY senior representative, and this is MY WORK.


THIS is why we are worth it.

Pride in Authorship

Years ago, when I began as a photographer, I didn't realize the value of my work. I gave it away for free, and not just as a gift to people I loved, but to people who were strangers. I sacrificed my heart and my soul for the art I loved more than anything, and was willing to throw it at the feet of people who weren't willing to pay for it. Just so I could have the opportunity to do what I loved, and give people a piece of my heart.

When I made my stamp (which has evolved over the years) I was reluctant to put it on my images at first because I was afraid people wouldn't like it there. Afraid people would see my stamp and not want the images because I'd marked them with a logo.

My logo.

I was afraid to put my stamp on an image I created because I thought people wouldn't like it.

Many did not, to be honest. I had customers say "I don't want your logo on my photos. Can I get them without the logo?"

Of course, I saw this as "The customer is always right." so I stopped putting my logo on images I created; even ones I'd done full edits on. I saw my logo as undesirable, and something that devalued the images I'd created. I became ashamed of my logo, and began to approach it as "Would you mind if I put my logo on your photos?" in a timid voice.

Rather than taking pride in authorship, I erased my authorship for the sake of keeping customers.

One day I did a shoot with a family, and like always, when I delivered the images, I left my logo off every photo. Even the ones I'd done full edits on. An hour or so later, the customer called me and said she wanted a refund. She was very upset. I didn't understand why, so I asked what the problem was. She said that she paid for me to shoot her photos because of my reputation as an artist. She said that she saw I had not put my stamp on any of her photos, and she felt like this meant one of two things: One, I was ashamed of her photos because they didn't meet my standard, and so I left my stamp off. Or, two, I was ashamed of her, and didn't want to put my stamp on her images. Either way, she was displeased, and wanted a refund. I fervently explained to her the reason I hadn't put my stamp on them, and after assuring her I would deliver a new set with my stamp on every one, she agreed to dismiss her refund request.

"I paid for your expertise. I paid for your stamp. Leaving it off is insulting. If I commissioned Thomas Kincaid to paint a piece for me, and paid his fee, and he left his signature off,  I'd be furious. Wouldn't you?" she asked.

I saw her point. There was no way a reputable artist would be willing to remove their logo from an image they wanted it on. So why was I doing it? Why was I agreeing to it? It clearly came down to a saddening fact among artists. Art is seen as something of very low value. Anyone (we are told) can take a picture, so what makes yours so special that you think it deserves to be signed?

They are half right. Anyone can take a picture.
However, nobody can take a picture like I CAN.

I can't paint like Monet. I can't sing like Bocelli. I can't cook like Bobby Flay.

I can paint. I can sing. I can cook.

But not like them.

And all of their works have their signature on them.

With the advent of digital, art is subject to the stripping of copyright in every medium. Customers crop out my logo on images I deliver all the time. There's nothing I can do about that. Usually, the customer isn't doing it for the sake of removing my logo, it's because my images are rectangular, and most social media profile photos are cropped into a square. Since I put my logo in the bottom corner, it's a casualty of cropping.

Also, most customers who put my images on social media don't tag me. I don't think they skip that because they don't want people to know I did their photos, they do it because it's their photo now, and who took it is irrelevant.

Recently, I gave advice to four of my photography students, telling them to never let anyone talk them into shooting for free (unless they wanted to) and never be ashamed to put their logo on their images. Sometimes I forget that giving advice often means reminding yourself of the advice you are giving.

It's why unless I want to give a session as a gift, I don't give free photo sessions.

It's why from now on, any image I perform a full edit on will have my stamp applied, no ifs or buts.

For those of you who take the extra step to make sure my logo stays visible, or tags me in images of mine that you share, thank you. That means the world to me.

You didn't have to do that.

- Daniel Griswell

The Teacher

I remember recently watching a speech by a well-known world leader. In the speech, he said a lot of words. He seemed to be very focused on the idea that he knew a lot about this particular subject he had chosen to talk about, and that nobody had researched it better than him. Yet, he also pointed out that he didn't understand the subject at all. It made me wonder: If you've researched a subject more than anyone, and yet you still don't understand it, you either need to accept that it's a topic nobody is meant to fully grasp (like the meaning of life) or that perhaps you haven't been doing a very good job of researching. Maybe you should just stick to golfing, or tiddlywinks.

There was a point in my photography that I decided to start mentoring students. I wanted to share what I had learned over the years in photography. The man who taught me photography years ago believed in the concept of "ABC". Simply put, he was "A", and I was "B". So in teaching me, I became "AB", because I would carry a part of his teaching with me forever, seamlessly integrating it into what I already knew. In turn, when I taught someone, (who would be C) when I finished teaching them, they would be "ABC". Then, if they taught someone, and the person they taught was "D", they would end up being "ABCD". Naturally, the letters on the left begin to diminish as the ones on the right increase, but the smallest lessons leave traces of themselves as the sharing of knowledge travels onward.

One day, I was working with one of my students and I decided I was going to explain to her how aperture and shutter speed combined with ISO create a balance that results in exposure. She sat next to me, and I started to break down each concept into what I believed were understandable chunks of information. However, immediately I realized that I didn't fully understand everything I was trying to explain. Rather than admit to this, I tried to BS my way through it in such a way as to sound very intelligent without revealing my complete lack of understanding. Of course, what resulted was me saying "You see?" a lot of times, and the student saying "I guess."

Eventually, I said "Let's just go back to shooting. I want to show you some tricks for achieving the look you are wanting to emulate." When I stopped trying to teach what I didn't fully comprehend, and instead stuck to my strengths, everything was right with the world, and I was able to communicate effectively the concepts I understood. This is where knowledge and wisdom meet.

If you talk a lot, and feel the need to use many words so that you sound intelligent, you probably aren't ready to teach anyone. If you have the internal attitude of "Nobody knows more about this than I do. I've studied it more than anyone. So nobody is more capable of teaching this than me." then you have abandoned the crucial understanding that only a student can be a teacher.

Let me repeat that for those in the back--

Only a student can be a teacher.

Only a student can be a teacher.
Only a student can be a teacher.
Only a student can be a teacher.
Only a student can be a teacher.
Only a student can be a teacher.
Only a student can be a teacher. 

The moment you believe you are the teacher and are no longer a student, you have lost the ability to teach.

ONLY A STUDENT CAN BE A TEACHER.

Until next time. 😊  

My Meraki (μεράκι)

I'm starting a new blog. This one will not be political in nature in any way, nor will it debate social stigma or personal dogma to the detriment of it's readers.

This is an artistic blog. A blog about my journey as a photographer. Observations about things I learned along the way. Artistic observations. Spiritual observations. Personal observations. 

Perhaps nobody will care, but I will. A blog doesn't have to be read by hundreds, or even dozens. It only has to be read by someone who is affected by the words inside it.

One day I was sitting on a bench on Broadway in Downtown Columbus and I had a cup full of leftover ice from a drink I'd just finished. I was about to throw it in the trash, but at the last moment, I saw that about 50 feet away was a planter full of flowers on the street corner. I walked the 50 feet and dumped the ice in the planter. That action may seem totally irrelevant, but for the flowers in the planter, it was relevant.

Meraki (μεράκι) is a Greek word that I am personally in love with. It means leaving a part of yourself in your work. I'm going to discuss that in a later post, but for now, know that this blog is a part of that, hence it's title.

I'm currently pursuing my degree in counseling, so that I can (hopefully) one day help others who have, like me, experienced childhood trauma. When I begin doing this, I can hopefully stop using photography as my career, and only work with people and projects I want to work with.

I want to leave a legacy in the hearts of those I served.

This is my Meraki. My μεράκι.

"Wisdom is not ignoring everyone's opinion and claiming yours is most accurate because of what you understand. Wisdom is balancing and validating your own beliefs by way of listening to the beliefs of others that perhaps you didn't understand."