BALANCE

􀀡t the heart of composition lies the concept
of balance. Balance is the resolution of
tension, opposing forces that are matched to
provide equilibrium and a sense of harmony. It is
a fundamental principle of visual perception that
the eye seeks to balance one force with another.
Balance is harmony, resolution, a condition that
intuitively seems aesthetically pleasing. In this
context, balance can refer to any of the graphic
elements in a picture (in Chapter 3 we will review
each of these in turn).
If we consider two strong points in a picture,
for example, the center of the frame becomes
a reference against which we see their position.
If one diagonal line in another image creates a
strong sense of movement in one direction, the
eye is aware of the need for an opposite sense of
movement. In color relationships, successive and
simultaneous contrasts demonstrate that the eye
will seek to provide its own complementary hues.
When talking about the balance of forces
in a picture, the usual analogies tend to be ones
drawn from the physical world: gravity, levers,
weights, and fulcrums. These are quite reasonable
analogies to use, because the eye and mind have
a real, objective response to balance that works in
a very similar way to the laws of mechanics. We
can develop the physical analogies more literally
by thinking of an image as a surface balanced at
one point, rather like a weighing scale. If we add
anything to one side of the image—that is, offcenter—
it becomes unbalanced, and we feel the
need to correct this. It does not matter whether
we are talking about masses of tone, color, an
arrangement of points, or whatever. The aim is
to find the visual “center of gravity.”
Considered in this way, there are two distinct
kinds of balance. One is symmetrical or static;
the other is dynamic. In symmetrical balance, the
arrangement of forces is centered—everything
falls equally away from the middle of the picture.
We can create this by placing the subject of a
photograph right in the middle of the frame. In
our weighing-scale analogy, it sits right over the
fulcrum, the point of balance. Another way of
achieving the same static balance is to place two
equal weights on either side of the center, at equal
distances. Adding a dimension to this, several

graphic elements equally arranged around the
center have the same effect.
The second kind of visual balance opposes
weights and forces that are unequal, and in doing
so enlivens the image. On the weighing scale, a
large object can be balanced by a small one, as
long as the latter is placed far enough away from
the fulcrum. Similarly, a small graphic element
can successfully oppose a dominant one, as long
as it is placed toward the edge of the frame.
Mutual opposition is the mechanism by which
most balance is achieved. It is, of course, a type
of contrast (see Contrast, on pages 34-37).
These are the ground rules of visual balance,
but they need to be treated with some caution.
All we have done so far is to describe the way
the balance works in simple circumstances. In
many pictures, a variety of elements interact,
and the question of balance can only be resolved
intuitively, according to what feels right. The
weighing scale analogy is fine as far as it goes—
to explain the fundamentals—but I would
certainly not recommend actually using it as
an aid to composition.
Apart from this, a more crucial consideration
is whether or not balance is even desirable.
Certainly, the eye and brain need equilibrium,
but providing it is not necessarily the job of
art or photography. Georges Seurat, the neo-
Impressionist painter, claimed that “Art is
harmony,” but as Itten pointed out, he was
mistaking a means of art for its end. If we
accepted a definition of good photography as
the creation of images that produce a calm,
satisfying sensation, the results would be very
dull indeed. An expressive picture is by no means
always harmonious, as you can see time and again
throughout this book. We will keep returning
to this issue, and it underlines many design
decisions, not just in an obvious way—where to
place the center of interest, for example—but in
the sense of how much tension or harmony to
create. Ultimately, the choice is a personal one,
and not determined by the view or the subject.
In composing the image, the poles are
symmetry and eccentricity. Symmetry is a
special, perfect case of balance, not necessarily
satisfying, and very rigid. In the natural run of
views that a photographer is likely to come across,
it is not particularly common. You would have
to specialize in a group of things that embody
symmetrical principles, such as architecture or
seashells, to make much use of it. For this reason,
it can be appealing if used occasionally. On the
subject of a mirrored composition in Sequoia
National Park, the landscape photographer Galen
Rowell wrote, “When I photographed Big Bird
Lake with a fine reflective surface on the water,
I intuitively broke traditional rules of composition
and split my image 50-50 to strengthen the patterns
and emphasize the similarity between the two
halves of my image.” To succeed, symmetrical
composition must be absolutely precise. Few
images look sloppier than an almost symmetrical
view that did not quite make it.
We ought now to consider how tension
actually works in an unbalanced composition.
The mechanics are considerably more subtle
than the balancing-scale analogy can show.
While the eye and brain search for balance, it
would be wrong to assume that it is satisfying
to have it handed on a plate. Interest in any
image is in direct proportion to the amount
of work the viewer has to do, and too perfect
a balance leaves less for the eye to work at.
Hence, dynamic balance tends to be more
interesting than static balance. Not only this,
but in the absence of equilibrium, the eye tries
to produce it independently. What happens is
that the eye and brain want to find something
closer to the center to balance the figure in the
top-right corner, and so keep coming back to the
lower-left center of the frame. Of course, the only
thing there is the mass of rice, so that the setting in
fact gains extra attention. The green stalks of rice
would be less dominant if the figure were centrally
placed. As it is, it would be difficult to say whether
the photograph is of a worker in a rice field or
of a rice field with, incidentally, a figure working
in it. This process of trying to compensate for an
obvious asymmetry in an image is what creates
visual tension, and it can be very useful indeed
in making a picture more dynamic. It can help
draw attention to an area of a scene that would
normally be too bland to be noticed.
A second factor involved in eccentrically
composed images is that of logic. The more
extreme the asymmetry, the more the viewer
expects a reason for it. Theoretically, at least,
someone looking at such an image will be
more prepared to examine it carefully for the
justification. Be warned, however, that eccentric
composition can as easily be seen as contrived.
Finally, all considerations of balance must
take into account the sheer graphic complexity
of many images. In order to study the design
of photographs, we are doing our best in this
book to isolate each of the graphic elements we
look at. Many of the examples, such as the rice
field picture, are deliberately uncomplicated. In
reality, most photographs contain several layers
of graphic effect.