tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10511930836465439652024-02-18T22:58:52.496-08:00About photodelphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-39204526376977099202008-12-21T16:56:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:57:13.316-08:00CONTENT, WEAK & STRONGThe relationship between the content and<br />the geometry of a photograph, and the<br />difficulty of separating them for analysis, has<br />caused anguish, or at least sustained puzzlement,<br />in more than a few writers. Roland Barthes,<br />for example, considered photography more or<br />less unclassifiable because it “always carries its<br />referent with itself” and there is “no photograph<br />without something or someone.”<br />As a philosophical issue, this applies to<br />the finished image and to reverse readings of<br />photographs, but in the context of making a<br />photograph, matters tend to be simplified by<br />knowledge of the task at hand. At some point<br />in the making of almost every photograph, the<br />photographer knows what the subject should<br />be and is solving the problem of how best to<br />make it into an image.<br />Content is the subject matter, both concrete<br />(objects, people, scenes, and so on) and abstract<br />(events, actions, concepts, and emotions). The<br />role it plays in influencing the design is complex,<br />because it has a specific attention value. Moreover,<br />different classes of subject tend to direct the<br />shooting method, largely for practical reasons. In<br />news photography, the fact of an event is the crucial<br />issue, at least for the editors. It is possible to shoot at<br />a news event and treat it in a different way, perhaps<br />looking for something more generic or symbolic,<br />but this then is no longer true news photography.<br />And if the facts rule the shooting, there is likely<br />to be less opportunity or reason to experiment<br />with individual treatments. Strong content, in other<br />words, tends to call for straight treatment—practical<br />rather than unusual composition.<br />Perhaps at this point the following tale from<br />British photographer George Rodger (1908-<br />1995), a co-founder of Magnum, would not be<br />out of place, even though fortunately most of<br />us will never find ourselves in such an extreme<br />situation. At the end of the Second World War,<br />Rodger entered Belsen concentration camp with<br />Allied troops. He later said, in an interview,<br />“When I discovered that I could look at the<br />horror of Belsen—4,000 dead and starving lying<br />around—and think only of a nice photographic<br />composition, I knew something had happened<br />to me and it had to stop.”delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-9326989969024498052008-12-21T16:55:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:56:36.359-08:00LOOKING AND INTERESTHow people look at images is of fundamental<br />importance to painters, photographers,<br />and anyone else who creates those images. The<br />premise of this book is that the way you compose<br />a photograph will influence the way in which<br />someone else looks at it. While this is tacitly<br />accepted throughout the visual arts, pinpointing<br />the how and the why of visual attention has been<br />hampered by lack of information. Traditionally,<br />art and photography critics have used their<br />own experience and empathy to divine what<br />a viewer might or should get out of a picture,<br />but it is only in the last few decades that this<br />has been researched. Eye-tracking provides the<br />experimental evidence for how people look at<br />a scene or an image, and the groundbreaking<br />study was by A. L. Yarbus in 1967. In looking<br />at any scene or image, the eye scans it in fast<br />jumps, moving from one point of interest to<br />another. These movements of both eyes together<br />are known as saccades. One reason for them<br />is that only the central part of the retina, the<br />fovea, has high resolution, and a succession of<br />saccades allows the brain to assemble a total view<br />in the short-term memory. The eye’s saccadic<br />movements can be tracked, and the so-called<br />“scanpath” recorded. If then superimposed on<br />the view—such as a photograph—it shows how<br />and in what order a viewer scanned the image.<br />All of this happens so quickly (saccades last<br />between 20 and 200 milliseconds) that most<br />people are unaware of their pattern of looking.<br />Research, however, shows that there are different<br />types of looking, depending on what the viewer<br />expects to get from the experience. There is<br />spontaneous looking, in which the viewer is “just<br />looking,” without any particular thing in mind.<br />The gaze pattern is influenced by such factors as<br />novelty, complexity, and incongruity. In the case<br />of a photograph, the eye is attracted to things<br />that are of interest and to parts of the picture that<br />contain information useful for making sense out<br />of it. Visual weight, as we saw on the previous<br />pages, plays an important role; this is because<br />spontaneous looking is also influenced by “stored<br />knowledge,” which includes, among other things,<br />knowing that eyes and lips tell a great deal about<br />other people’s moods and attitudes.<br />A second type of looking is task-relevant<br />looking, in which the viewer sets out to look for<br />something or gain specific information from<br />an image or scene. In looking at a photograph,<br />we can assume that the viewer is doing this<br />by choice, and probably for some kind of<br />pleasure or entertainment (or in the hope that<br />the photograph will deliver this). This is an<br />important starting condition. Next come the<br />viewer’s expectations. For instance, if he or<br />she sees at first glance that there is something<br />unusual or unexplained about the image, this is<br />likely to cause a gaze pattern that is searching for<br />information that will explain the circumstances.<br />The classic study was by Yarbus in 1967, in which<br />a picture of a visitor arriving in a living room<br />was shown first without any instructions, and<br />then with six different prior questions, including<br />estimating the ages of the people in the image.<br />The very different scanpaths showed how the<br />task influenced the looking.<br />Other research in this area shows that most<br />people tend to agree on what are the most<br />informative parts of a picture, but that this is always<br />tempered by individual experience (personal stored<br />knowledge makes scanpaths idiosyncratic). Also,<br />most painters and photographers believe that they<br />can in some way control the way that other people<br />view their work (this is, after all, the entire theme of<br />this book), and research backs this up, in particular<br />an experiment (Hansen & Støvring, 1988) in<br />which an artist explained how he intended viewers<br />to look at the work and subsequent eye-tracking<br />proved him largely correct. Another experiment<br />with interesting potential is that the scanpath that<br />emerges at first viewing occupies about 30% of the<br />viewing time, and that most viewers then repeat<br />it—re-scanning the same way rather than using<br />the time to explore other parts of the picture. In<br />other words, most people decide quite quickly<br />what they think is important and/or interesting<br />in an image, and go on looking at those parts.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-75242059959517475792008-12-21T16:53:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:55:12.193-08:00VISUAL WEIGHTSo obvious as to be a truism is that we look<br />most at what interests us. This means that<br />as we start to look at anything, whether a real<br />scene or an image, we bring to the task “stored<br />knowledge” that we have accumulated from<br />experience. Recent research in perception<br />confirms this; Deutsch and Deutsch (1963)<br />proposed “importance weightings” as a main<br />factor in visual attention. This is crucial in<br />deciding how photographs will be looked<br />at, because in addition to the composition,<br />certain kinds of content will do more than<br />others to attract the eye. Of course, filtering<br />out idiosyncrasy is difficult, to say the least, but<br />there are some useful generalizations. Certain<br />subjects will tend to attract people more than<br />others, either because we have learned to expect<br />more information from them or because<br />they appeal to our emotions or desires.<br />The most common high-attractant subjects<br />are the key parts of the human face, especially<br />the eyes and mouth, almost certainly because this<br />is where we derive most of our information for<br />deciding how someone will react. In fact, research<br />into the nervous system has shown that there are<br />specific brain modules for recognizing faces, and<br />others for recognizing hands—clear proof of how<br />important these subjects are visually.<br />Another class of subject that attracts the<br />eye with a high weighting is writing—again,<br />something of obvious high-information value.<br />In street photography, for example, signs and<br />billboards have a tendency to divert attention,<br />and the meaning of the words can add another<br />level of interest—consider a word intended to<br />shock, as is sometimes used in advertising. Even<br />if the language is unknown to the viewer (for<br />example, the image on page 42 for any non-<br />Chinese speaker), it still appears to command<br />attention. Ansel Adams, on the subject of a<br />photograph of Chinese grave markers, wrote,<br />“Inscriptions in a foreign language can have<br />a direct aesthetic quality, unmodified by the<br />imposition of meaning,” but the very fact<br />that they had any visual quality was because<br />they represented a language.<br />As well as these “informational” subjects,<br />there is an even wider and harder-to-define class<br />that appeals to the emotions. These include sexual<br />attraction (erotic and pornographic images),<br />cuteness (baby animals and pets, for example),<br />horror (scenes of death and violence), disgust,<br />fashion, desirable goods, and novelty. Reactions<br />in this class depend more on the individual<br />interests of the viewer.<br />There is no way of accurately balancing<br />all of these weightings, but on an intuitive level<br />it is fairly easy, as long as the photographer is<br />conscious of the various degrees of attraction.<br />All of this content-based weighting also has to be<br />set against the complex ways in which the form<br />of the image—the graphic elements and colors—<br />directs attention.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-12339735285529130242008-12-21T16:50:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:53:53.708-08:00PERSPECTIVE AND DEPTHOne of the paradoxes of vision is that while<br />the image projected onto the retina obeys<br />the laws of optics and shows distant objects<br />smaller than nearer ones, the brain, given<br />sufficient clues, knows their proper size. And, in<br />one view, the brain accepts both realities—distant<br />objects that are small and full-scale at the same<br />time. The same thing happens with linear<br />perspective. The parallel sides of a road stretching<br />away from us converge optically but at the same<br />time are perceived as straight and parallel. The<br />explanation for this is known as “constancy<br />scaling” or “scale constancy,” a little-understood<br />perceptual mechanism that allows the mind to<br />resolve the inconsistencies of depth. Its impact on<br />photography is that the recorded image is purely<br />optical, so that distant objects appear only small,<br />and parallel lines do converge. As in painting,<br />photography has to pursue various strategies to<br />enhance or reduce the sense of depth, and images<br />work within their own frame of reference, not<br />that of normal perception.<br />Photography’s constant relationship with<br />real scenes makes the sense of depth in a picture<br />always important, and this in turn influences<br />the realism of the photograph. In its broadest<br />sense, perspective is the appearance of objects in<br />space, and their relationships to each other and<br />the viewer. More usually, in photography it is<br />used to describe the intensity of the impression<br />of depth. The various types of perspective and<br />other depth controls will be described in a<br />moment, but before this we ought to consider<br />how to use them, and why. Given the ability<br />to make a difference to the perspective, under<br />what conditions will it help the photograph to<br />enhance, or to diminish, the sense of depth?<br />A heightened sense of depth through strong<br />perspective tends to improve the viewer’s sense<br />of being there in front of a real scene. It makes<br />more of the representational qualities of the<br />subject, and less of the graphic structure.<br />The following types of perspective contain<br />the main variables that affect our sense of depth<br />in a photograph. Which ones dominate depends<br />on the situation, as does the influence that the<br />photographer has over them.<br />LINEAR PERSPECTIVE<br />In two-dimensional imagery, this is, overall, the<br />most prominent type of perspective effect. Linear<br />perspective is characterized by converging lines.<br />These lines are, in most scenes, actually parallel,<br />like the edges of a road and the top and bottom<br />of a wall, but if they recede from the camera,<br />they appear to converge toward one or more<br />vanishing points. If they continue in the image<br />for a sufficient distance, they do actually meet at<br />a real point. If the camera is level, and the view is<br />a landscape, the horizontal lines will converge on<br />the horizon. If the camera is pointed upward, the<br />vertical lines, such as the sides of a building, will<br />converge toward some unspecified part of the sky;<br />visually, this is more difficult for most people to<br />accept as a normal image.<br />In the process of convergence, all or most<br />of the lines become diagonal, and this, as we’ll<br />see on pages 76-77, induces visual tension and<br />a sense of movement. The movement itself adds<br />to the perception of depth, along lines that<br />carry the eye into and out of the scene. By<br />association, therefore, diagonal lines of all kinds<br />contain a suggestion of depth, and this includes<br />shadows which, if seen obliquely, can appear as<br />lines. So a direct sun, particularly if low in the<br />sky, will enhance perspective if the shadows it<br />casts fall diagonally. Viewpoint determines the<br />degree of convergence, and the more acute the<br />angle of view to the surface, the greater this is—<br />at least until the camera is close to ground level,<br />at which point the convergence becomes extreme<br />enough to disappear.<br />The focal length of lens is another important<br />factor in linear perspective. Of two lenses aimed<br />appropriate place in the scene, it helps to establish<br />perspective. Also associated with diminishing<br />perspective are placement (things in the lower<br />part of the picture are, through familiarity,<br />assumed to be in the foreground) and overlap<br />(if the outline of one object overlaps another,<br />it is assumed to be the one in front).<br />directly towards the vanishing point of a scene,<br />the wide-angle lens will show more of the<br />diagonals in the foreground, and these will tend<br />to dominate the structure of the image more.<br />Hence, wide-angle lenses have a propensity to<br />enhance linear perspective, while telephoto lenses<br />tend to flatten it.<br />DIMINISHING PERSPECTIVE<br />This is related to linear perspective, and is in<br />fact a form of it. Imagine a row of identical<br />trees lining a road. A view along the road would<br />produce the familiar convergence in the line<br />of trees, but individually they will appear to<br />be successively smaller. This is diminishing<br />perspective, and works most effectively with<br />identical or similar objects at different distances.<br />For similar reasons, anything of recognizable<br />size will give a standard of scale; in the<br />appropriate place in the scene, it helps to establish<br />perspective. Also associated with diminishing<br />perspective are placement (things in the lower<br />part of the picture are, through familiarity,<br />assumed to be in the foreground) and overlap<br />(if the outline of one object overlaps another,<br />it is assumed to be the one in front).<br />AERIAL PERSPECTIVE<br />Atmospheric haze acts as a filter, reducing the<br />contrast in distant parts of a scene and lightening<br />their tone. Our familiarity with this effect (pale<br />horizons, for example), enables our eyes to use<br />it as a clue to depth. Hazy, misty scenes appear<br />deeper than they really are because of their strong<br />aerial perspective. It can be enhanced by using<br />backlighting, as in the example below, and by<br />not using filters (such as those designed to cut<br />ultraviolet radiation) that reduce haze. Telephoto<br />lenses tend to show more aerial perspective than<br />wide-angle lenses if used on different subjects,<br />because they show less of nearby things that have<br />little haze between them and the camera. Favoring<br />the blue channel when using channel mixing to<br />convert an RGB digital image to black and white<br />also accentuates the effect.<br />TONAL PERSPECTIVE<br />Apart from the lightening effect that haze has on<br />distant things, light tones appear to advance and<br />dark tones recede. So, a light object against a dark<br />background will normally stand forward, with a<br />strong sense of depth. This can be controlled by<br />placing subjects carefully, or by lighting. Doing<br />the reverse, as we saw on pages 46-47, creates a<br />figure-ground ambiguity.<br />COLOR PERSPECTIVE<br />Warm colors tend to advance perceptually and<br />cool colors recede. Other factors apart, therefore,<br />a red or orange subject against a green or blue<br />background will have a sense of depth for purely<br />optical reasons. Again, appropriate positioning<br />can be used as a control. The more intense the<br />colors, the stronger the effect, but if there is a<br />difference in intensity, it should be in favour of<br />the foreground.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-10305698560176471662008-12-21T16:48:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:50:40.528-08:00PATTERN, TEXTURE, MANYike rhythm, pattern is built on repetition,<br />but unlike rhythm it is associated with area,<br />not direction. A pattern does not encourage the<br />eye to move in a particular way, but rather to<br />roam across the surface of the picture. It has at<br />least an element of homogeneity, and, as a result,<br />something of a static nature.<br />The prime quality of a pattern is that it covers<br />an area, thus the photographs that show the<br />strongest pattern are those in which it extends<br />right to the edges of the frame. Then, as with<br />an edge-to-edge rhythm, the phenomenon of<br />continuation occurs, and the eye assumes that<br />the pattern extends beyond. The photograph<br />of the bicycle saddles illustrates this. In other<br />words, showing any border at all to the pattern<br />establishes limits; if none can be seen, the image<br />is take to be a part of a larger area.<br />At the same time, the larger the number of<br />elements that can be seen in the picture, the more<br />there is a sense of pattern than of a group of<br />individual objects. This operates up to a quantity<br />at which the individual elements become difficult<br />to distinguish and so become more of a texture.<br />In terms of the number of elements, the effective<br />limits lie between about ten and several hundred,<br />and a useful exercise when faced with a mass of<br />similar objects is to start at a distance (or with<br />a focal length) that takes in the entire group,<br />making sure that they reach the frame edges,<br />and then take successive photographs, closing in,<br />ending with just four or five of the units. Within<br />this sequence of images there will be one or two<br />in which the pattern effect is strongest. Pattern,<br />in other words, also depends on scale.<br />A pattern seen at a sufficiently large scale<br />takes on the appearance of texture. Texture is<br />the primary quality of a surface. The structure<br />of an object is its form, whereas the structure of<br />the material from which it is made is its texture.<br />Like pattern, it is determined by scale. The<br />texture of a piece of sandstone is the roughness<br />of the individual compacted grains, a fraction<br />of a millimeter across. Then think of the same<br />sandstone as part of a cliff; the cliff face is now<br />the surface, and the texture is on a much larger<br />scale, the cracks and ridges of the rock. Finally,<br />think of a chain of mountains that contains this<br />cliff face. A satellite picture shows even the largest<br />mountains as wrinkles on the surface of the earth:<br />its texture. This kind of repeating scale of texture<br />is related to fractal geometry.<br />Texture is a quality of structure rather than<br />of tone or color, and so appeals principally to<br />the sense of touch. Even if we cannot physically<br />reach out and touch it, its appearance works<br />through this sensory channel. This explains why<br />texture is revealed through lighting—at a small<br />scale, only this throws up relief. Specifically, the<br />direction and quality of the lighting are therefore<br />important. Relief, and thus texture, appears<br />strongest when the lighting is oblique, and when<br />the light is hard rather than soft and diffuse.<br />These conditions combine to create the sharpest<br />shadows thrown by each element in the texture,<br />whether it is the weave in a fabric, the wrinkles<br />in leather, or the grain in wood. As a rule, the<br />finer the texture, the more oblique and hard the<br />lighting it needs to be seen clearly—except that<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />the smoothest of all surfaces are reflective,<br />such as polished metal, and texture is replaced<br />by reflection (see page 124).<br />Related to pattern and texture, but with<br />content playing a stronger role, is the idea<br />of many, as in a crowd of people or a large<br />shoal of fish. The appeal of huge numbers<br />of similar things lies often in the surprise of<br />seeing so many of them in one place and at<br />one time. The view of the Kaaba in Mecca,<br />seen from one of the minarets, for example,<br />is said to take in at least a million people, and<br />this fact is itself remarkable. Large numbers<br />congregating usually constitutes an event.<br />Framing to within the edges of the mass allows<br />the eye to believe that it continues indefinitely.vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvdelphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-84430555213139851182008-12-21T16:46:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:48:27.546-08:00RHYTHMhen there are several similar elements in<br />a scene, their arrangement may, under<br />special conditions, set up a rhythmic visual<br />structure. Repetition is a necessary ingredient, but<br />this alone does not guarantee a sense of rhythm.<br />There is an obvious musical analogy, and it makes<br />considerable sense. Like the beat in a piece of<br />music, the optical beat in a picture can vary from<br />being completely regular to variations similar to,<br />for instance, syncopation.<br />Rhythm in a picture needs time and the<br />movement of the eye to be appreciated. The<br />dimensions of the frame, therefore, set some limits,<br />so that what can be seen is not much more than<br />a rhythmical phrase. However, the eye and mind<br />are naturally adept at extending what they see (the<br />Gestalt Law of Good Continuation), and—in a<br />photograph such as that of the row of soldiers on<br />page 183— readily assume the continuation of the<br />rhythm. In this way, a repeating flow of images is<br />perceived as being longer than can actually be seen.<br />Rhythm is a feature of the way the eye scans the<br />picture as much as of the repetition. It is strongest<br />when each cycle in the beat encourages the eye<br />to move (just as in the example to the right). The<br />natural tendency of the eye to move from side to<br />side (see pages 12-15) is particularly evident here, as<br />rhythm needs direction and flow in order to come<br />alive. The rhythmical movement is therefore usually<br />up and down, as vertical rhythm is much less easily<br />perceived. Rhythm produces considerable strength<br />in an image, as it does in music. It has momentum,<br />and because of this, a sense of continuation. Once<br />the eye has recognized the repetition, the viewer<br />assumes that the repetition will continue beyond<br />the frame.<br />Rhythm is also a feature of repetitive<br />action, and this has real practical significance in<br />photographing work and similar activity. In the<br />main picture opposite, of Indian farmers in the<br />countryside near Madras winnowing rice, the<br />potential soon became apparent. The first picture<br />in the sequence is uninteresting but shows the<br />situation. The individual action was to scoop rice<br />into the basket and hold it high, tipping it gently<br />so that the breeze would separate the rice from<br />the chaff. Each person worked independently,<br />but inevitably two or more would be in the same<br />position at the same time. It was then a matter of<br />waiting for the moment in which three were in<br />unison, and finding a viewpoint that would align<br />them so that the rhythm has maximum graphic<br />effect. These things are never certain—someone<br />could simply stop work—but the possibility in a<br />situation like this is high.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-68309169406562604242008-12-21T16:44:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:46:29.322-08:00FIGURE AND GROUNDwe are conditioned to accepting the idea<br />of a background. In other words, from<br />our normal visual experience, we assume that<br />in most scenes that is something that we look at<br />(the subject), and there is a setting against which<br />it stands or lies (the background). One stands<br />forward, the other recedes. One is important, and<br />the reason for taking a photograph; the other is<br />just there because something has to occupy the<br />rest of the frame. As we saw, this is an essential<br />principle of Gestalt theory.<br />In most picture situations, that is essentially<br />true. We select something as the purpose of the<br />image, and it is more often than not a discrete<br />object or group of objects. It may be a person,<br />a still-life, a group of buildings, a part of<br />something. What is behind the focus of interest<br />is the background, and in many well-designed<br />and satisfying images, it complements the subject.<br />Often, we already know what the subject is<br />before the photography begins. The main point<br />of interest has been decided on: a human figure,<br />perhaps, or a horse, or a car. If it is possible to<br />control the circumstances of the picture, the<br />next decision may well be to choose the<br />background: that is, to decide which of the<br />locally available settings will show off the<br />subject to its best advantage. This occurs so<br />often, as you can see from a casual glance at<br />most of the pictures in this book, that it<br />scarcely even merits mention.<br />There are, however, circumstances when<br />the photographer can choose which of two<br />components in a view is to be the figure and<br />which is to be the ground against which the<br />figure is seen. This opportunity occurs when<br />there is some ambiguity in the image, and it helps<br />to have a minimum of realistic detail. In this<br />respect, photography is at an initial disadvantage<br />to illustration, because it is hard to remove the<br />inherent realism in a photograph. In particular,<br />the viewer knows that the image is of something<br />real, and so the eye searches for clues.<br />Some of the purest examples of ambiguous<br />figure/ground relationships are in Japanese and<br />Chinese calligraphy, in which the white spaces<br />between the brush strokes are just as active<br />and coherent as the black characters. When<br />the ambiguity is greatest, an alternation of<br />perception occurs. At one moment the dark tones<br />advance, at another they recede. Two interlinked<br />images fluctuate backwards and forwards. The<br />preconditions for this are fairly simple. There<br />should be two tones in the image, and they should<br />contrast as much as possible. The two areas<br />should be as equal as possible. Finally, there<br />should be limited clues in the content of<br />the picture as to what is in front of what.<br />The point of importance here is not how to<br />make illusory photographs, but how to use or<br />remove ambiguity in the relationship between<br />subject and background. The two examples<br />shown here, both silhouettes, use the same<br />technique as the calligraphy: the real background<br />is lighter than the real subject, which tends to<br />make it move forward; the areas are nearly equal;<br />the shapes are not completely obvious at first<br />glance. The shapes are, however, recognizable,<br />even if only after a moment’s study. The figure/<br />ground ambiguity is used, not as an attempt to<br />create and abstract illusion, but to add some<br />optical tension and interest to the images.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-33301853353013501512008-12-21T16:42:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:44:07.865-08:00DYNAMIC TENSIONe have already seen how certain of the<br />basic graphic elements have more energy<br />than others: diagonals, for instance. Some design<br />constructions are also more dynamic; rhythm<br />creates momentum and activity, and eccentric<br />placement of objects induces tension as the eye<br />attempts to create its own balance. However,<br />rather than think of an image as balanced or<br />unbalanced, we can consider it in terms of its<br />dynamic tension. This is essentially making use<br />of the energy inherent in various structures, and<br />using it to keep the eye alert and moving outward<br />from the center of the picture. It is the opposite of<br />the static character of formal compositions.<br />Some caution is necessary, simply because<br />introducing dynamic tension into a picture seems<br />such an easy and immediate way of attracting<br />attention. Just as the use of rich, vibrant colors<br />is instantly effective in an individual photograph<br />but can become mannered if used constantly, so<br />this kind of activation can also become wearing<br />after a while. As with any design technique that<br />is strong and obvious when first seen, it tends to<br />lack staying power. Its effect is usually spent very<br />quickly, and the eye moves on to the next image.<br />The techniques for achieving dynamic<br />tension are, however, fairly straightforward, as<br />the examples here show. While not trying to<br />reduce it to a formula, the ideal combination<br />is a variety of diagonals in different directions,<br />opposed lines, and any structural device<br />that leads the eye outward, preferably in<br />competing directions.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-36499416609461960872008-12-21T16:39:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:42:51.768-08:00BALANCEt the heart of composition lies the concept<br />of balance. Balance is the resolution of<br />tension, opposing forces that are matched to<br />provide equilibrium and a sense of harmony. It is<br />a fundamental principle of visual perception that<br />the eye seeks to balance one force with another.<br />Balance is harmony, resolution, a condition that<br />intuitively seems aesthetically pleasing. In this<br />context, balance can refer to any of the graphic<br />elements in a picture (in Chapter 3 we will review<br />each of these in turn).<br />If we consider two strong points in a picture,<br />for example, the center of the frame becomes<br />a reference against which we see their position.<br />If one diagonal line in another image creates a<br />strong sense of movement in one direction, the<br />eye is aware of the need for an opposite sense of<br />movement. In color relationships, successive and<br />simultaneous contrasts demonstrate that the eye<br />will seek to provide its own complementary hues.<br />When talking about the balance of forces<br />in a picture, the usual analogies tend to be ones<br />drawn from the physical world: gravity, levers,<br />weights, and fulcrums. These are quite reasonable<br />analogies to use, because the eye and mind have<br />a real, objective response to balance that works in<br />a very similar way to the laws of mechanics. We<br />can develop the physical analogies more literally<br />by thinking of an image as a surface balanced at<br />one point, rather like a weighing scale. If we add<br />anything to one side of the image—that is, offcenter—<br />it becomes unbalanced, and we feel the<br />need to correct this. It does not matter whether<br />we are talking about masses of tone, color, an<br />arrangement of points, or whatever. The aim is<br />to find the visual “center of gravity.”<br />Considered in this way, there are two distinct<br />kinds of balance. One is symmetrical or static;<br />the other is dynamic. In symmetrical balance, the<br />arrangement of forces is centered—everything<br />falls equally away from the middle of the picture.<br />We can create this by placing the subject of a<br />photograph right in the middle of the frame. In<br />our weighing-scale analogy, it sits right over the<br />fulcrum, the point of balance. Another way of<br />achieving the same static balance is to place two<br />equal weights on either side of the center, at equal<br />distances. Adding a dimension to this, several<br /><br />graphic elements equally arranged around the<br />center have the same effect.<br />The second kind of visual balance opposes<br />weights and forces that are unequal, and in doing<br />so enlivens the image. On the weighing scale, a<br />large object can be balanced by a small one, as<br />long as the latter is placed far enough away from<br />the fulcrum. Similarly, a small graphic element<br />can successfully oppose a dominant one, as long<br />as it is placed toward the edge of the frame.<br />Mutual opposition is the mechanism by which<br />most balance is achieved. It is, of course, a type<br />of contrast (see Contrast, on pages 34-37).<br />These are the ground rules of visual balance,<br />but they need to be treated with some caution.<br />All we have done so far is to describe the way<br />the balance works in simple circumstances. In<br />many pictures, a variety of elements interact,<br />and the question of balance can only be resolved<br />intuitively, according to what feels right. The<br />weighing scale analogy is fine as far as it goes—<br />to explain the fundamentals—but I would<br />certainly not recommend actually using it as<br />an aid to composition.<br />Apart from this, a more crucial consideration<br />is whether or not balance is even desirable.<br />Certainly, the eye and brain need equilibrium,<br />but providing it is not necessarily the job of<br />art or photography. Georges Seurat, the neo-<br />Impressionist painter, claimed that “Art is<br />harmony,” but as Itten pointed out, he was<br />mistaking a means of art for its end. If we<br />accepted a definition of good photography as<br />the creation of images that produce a calm,<br />satisfying sensation, the results would be very<br />dull indeed. An expressive picture is by no means<br />always harmonious, as you can see time and again<br />throughout this book. We will keep returning<br />to this issue, and it underlines many design<br />decisions, not just in an obvious way—where to<br />place the center of interest, for example—but in<br />the sense of how much tension or harmony to<br />create. Ultimately, the choice is a personal one,<br />and not determined by the view or the subject.<br />In composing the image, the poles are<br />symmetry and eccentricity. Symmetry is a<br />special, perfect case of balance, not necessarily<br />satisfying, and very rigid. In the natural run of<br />views that a photographer is likely to come across,<br />it is not particularly common. You would have<br />to specialize in a group of things that embody<br />symmetrical principles, such as architecture or<br />seashells, to make much use of it. For this reason,<br />it can be appealing if used occasionally. On the<br />subject of a mirrored composition in Sequoia<br />National Park, the landscape photographer Galen<br />Rowell wrote, “When I photographed Big Bird<br />Lake with a fine reflective surface on the water,<br />I intuitively broke traditional rules of composition<br />and split my image 50-50 to strengthen the patterns<br />and emphasize the similarity between the two<br />halves of my image.” To succeed, symmetrical<br />composition must be absolutely precise. Few<br />images look sloppier than an almost symmetrical<br />view that did not quite make it.<br />We ought now to consider how tension<br />actually works in an unbalanced composition.<br />The mechanics are considerably more subtle<br />than the balancing-scale analogy can show.<br />While the eye and brain search for balance, it<br />would be wrong to assume that it is satisfying<br />to have it handed on a plate. Interest in any<br />image is in direct proportion to the amount<br />of work the viewer has to do, and too perfect<br />a balance leaves less for the eye to work at.<br />Hence, dynamic balance tends to be more<br />interesting than static balance. Not only this,<br />but in the absence of equilibrium, the eye tries<br />to produce it independently. What happens is<br />that the eye and brain want to find something<br />closer to the center to balance the figure in the<br />top-right corner, and so keep coming back to the<br />lower-left center of the frame. Of course, the only<br />thing there is the mass of rice, so that the setting in<br />fact gains extra attention. The green stalks of rice<br />would be less dominant if the figure were centrally<br />placed. As it is, it would be difficult to say whether<br />the photograph is of a worker in a rice field or<br />of a rice field with, incidentally, a figure working<br />in it. This process of trying to compensate for an<br />obvious asymmetry in an image is what creates<br />visual tension, and it can be very useful indeed<br />in making a picture more dynamic. It can help<br />draw attention to an area of a scene that would<br />normally be too bland to be noticed.<br />A second factor involved in eccentrically<br />composed images is that of logic. The more<br />extreme the asymmetry, the more the viewer<br />expects a reason for it. Theoretically, at least,<br />someone looking at such an image will be<br />more prepared to examine it carefully for the<br />justification. Be warned, however, that eccentric<br />composition can as easily be seen as contrived.<br />Finally, all considerations of balance must<br />take into account the sheer graphic complexity<br />of many images. In order to study the design<br />of photographs, we are doing our best in this<br />book to isolate each of the graphic elements we<br />look at. Many of the examples, such as the rice<br />field picture, are deliberately uncomplicated. In<br />reality, most photographs contain several layers<br />of graphic effect.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-17431507632940841742008-12-21T16:38:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:39:03.025-08:00GESTALT PERCEPTIONGestalt psychology was founded in Austria<br />and Germany in the early 20th century, and<br />while some of its ideas (such as that objects seen<br />form similarly shaped traces in the brain) have<br />long been abandoned, it has had an important<br />revival in its approach to visual recognition.<br />Modern Gestalt theory takes a holistic<br />approach to perception, on the basic principle<br />that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts,<br />and that in viewing an entire scene or image, the<br />mind takes a sudden leap from recognizing the<br />individual elements to understanding the scene in<br />its entirety. These two concepts—appreciating the<br />greater meaning of the entire image and grasping<br />it suddenly and intuitively—may at first seem at<br />odds with what is known about how we look at<br />images. (The principle that we build up a picture<br />from a series of rapid eye movements to points of<br />interest is explored more thoroughly on pages<br />80-81.) However, in reality, Gestalt theory has<br />adapted to experimental research, and, despite<br />its sometimes vague assertions, offers some<br />valid explanations about the complex process<br />of perception. Its importance for photography<br />lies mainly in its laws of organization, which<br />underpin most of the principles of composing<br />images, particularly in this and the next chapter.<br />The word “Gestalt” has no perfect English<br />translation, but refers to the way in which<br />something has been gestellt, that is, “placed”<br />or “put together,” with obvious relevance<br />to composition. As a way of understanding<br />perception, it offers an alternative to the<br />atomistic, iterative way in which computers<br />and digital imaging work, step-by-step, and<br />stresses the value of insight. Another principle<br />from Gestalt is “optimization,” favoring clarity<br />and simplicity. Allied to this is the concept of<br />pragnanz (precision), which states that when<br />understanding takes place as a whole (“grasping<br />the image”), it involves minimal effort.<br />The Gestalt laws of organization, listed in the<br />box, go a long way toward explaining the ways<br />in which graphic elements in photographs, such<br />as potential lines, points, shapes, and vectors, are<br />“completed” in viewers’ minds and understood<br />to animate and give balance to an image. One of<br />the most important and easy-to-grasp laws is that<br />of Closure, usually illustrated by the well-known<br />Kanizsa triangle (illustrated opposite). We can<br />see this principle time and again in photography,<br />where certain parts of a composition suggest a<br />shape, and this perceived shape then helps to<br />give structure to the image. In other words, an<br />implied shape tends to strengthen a composition.<br />It helps the viewer make sense of it. Triangles<br />are among the most potent of “closure-induced”<br />shapes in photography, but the example<br />illustrated opposite is the somewhat more<br />unusual one of a double circle.<br />As we’ll see in more detail when we come to<br />the process of shooting (in Chapter 6), creating<br />and reading a photograph heavily involves the<br />principle of making sense of a scene or an image,<br />of taking the visual input and attempting to fit<br />it to some hypothesis that explains the way it<br />looks. Gestalt theory introduces the idea of<br />regrouping and restructuring the visual elements<br />so that they make sense as an entire image—also<br />known as the “phi-phenomenon.” However,<br />whereas Gestalt theory is used in instructional<br />design—for example, to eliminate confusion<br />and speed up recognition (diagrams, keyboards,<br />plans, and so on)— in photography it can play<br />an equally valuable opposite role.<br />As we’ll see when we come to Chapter 6,<br />Intent, there are many advantages in slowing<br />down the way people view a photograph, so as<br />to deliver a surprise or to involve them more<br />deeply in the image (Gombrich’s “beholder’s<br />share”, page 140). For example, the principle of<br />Emergence (see box) is valuable in explaining<br />how, in a sudden moment, the mind comprehends<br />something in a photograph that was visually<br />“hidden” (pages 144-145, Delay, go into this<br />in more detail). Normally, in presenting<br />information, making the viewer’s mind work<br />harder is not considered a good thing, but in<br />photography and other arts it becomes part of<br />the reward for viewing.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-20750155326490901432008-12-21T16:37:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:38:10.527-08:00CONTRASTThe most fundamental overhaul of design<br />theory in the 20th century took place in<br />Germany in the 1920s and its focus was the<br />Bauhaus. Founded in 1919 in Dessau, this school<br />of art, design, and architecture was a major<br />influence because of its experimental, questioning<br />approach to the principles of design. Johannes<br />Itten ran the Basic Course at the Bauhaus. His<br />theory of composition was rooted in one simple<br />concept: contrasts. Contrast between light and<br />dark (chiaroscuro), between shapes, colors, and<br />even sensations, was the basis for composing an<br />image. One of the first exercises that Itten set the<br />Bauhaus students was to discover and illustrate<br />the different possibilities of contrast. These<br />included, among many others, large/small, long/<br />short, smooth/rough, transparent/opaque, and so<br />on. These were intended as art exercises, but they<br />translate very comfortably into photography.<br />Itten’s intention was “to awaken a vital feeling<br />for the subject through a personal observation,”<br />and his exercise was a vehicle for plunging in<br />and exploring the nature of design. Here is an<br />adaptation of his exercises for photography.<br />The project is in two parts. The first is rather<br />easier—producing pairs of photographs that<br />contrast with each other. The easiest way to do this<br />is to make a selection from pictures you’ve already<br />taken, choosing those that best show a certain<br />contrast. More demanding but more valuable is<br />to go out and look for images that illustrate a preplanned<br />type of contrast—executing shots to order.<br />The second part of the project is to combine<br />the two poles of the contrast in one photograph,<br />an exercise that calls for a bit more imagination.<br />There are no restrictions to the kind of contrast,<br />and it can be to do with form (bright/dark,<br />blurred/sharp) or with any aspect of content. For<br />example, it could be contrast in a concept, such as<br />continuous/intermittent, or something non-visual,<br />like loud/quiet. The list in the box below is from<br />Itten’s original Bauhaus exercise.<br />A passionate educator, Itten wanted his<br />students to approach these contrasts from three<br />directions; “they had to experience them with their<br />senses, objectivize them intellectually, and realize<br />them synthetically.” That is, each student had first<br />to try to get a feeling for each contrast without<br />immediately thinking of it as an image, then list the<br />ways of putting this sensation across, and finally<br />make a picture. For example, for “much/little,” one<br />first impression might be of a large group of things<br />with one of them standing out because it is in<br />some way different. On the other hand, it could be<br />treated as a group of things with an identical object<br />standing a little apart, and so isolated. These are<br />just two approaches out of several alternatives.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-82123126350907433702008-12-21T16:35:00.002-08:002008-12-21T16:36:58.277-08:00FRAMES WITHIN FRAMESOne of the most predictably successful of all<br />photographic design constructions is an<br />internal frame. As with any established design<br />formula, it contains real risks of overuse, and has<br />the makings of a cliché, but these dangers are only<br />evidence of the fact that it does work. It simply<br />needs a little more care and imagination when it<br />is being applied.<br />The appeal of frames within frames is partly to<br />do with composition, but at a deeper level it relates<br />to perception. Frames like those shown here and<br />on the next few pages enhance the dimensionality<br />of a photograph by emphasizing that the viewer<br />is looking through from one plane to another. As<br />we’ll see at other points in this book, one of the<br />recurrent issues in photography is what happens<br />in converting a fully three-dimensional scene<br />into a two-dimensional picture. It is more central<br />to photography than to painting or illustration<br />because of photography’s essentially realistic roots.<br />Frames within the picture have the effect of pulling<br />the viewer through; in other words, they are a<br />kind of window. There is a relationship between<br />the frame of the photograph and an initial step<br />in which the viewer’s attention is drawn inward<br />(the corners are particularly important in this).<br />Thereafter, there is an implied momentum forward<br />through the frame. Walker Evans, for example,<br />often made deliberate use of this device. As his<br />biographer, Belinda Rathbone, writes, “That his<br />photographs saw through windows and porches<br />and around corners gave them a new dimension<br />and power and even an aura of revelation.”<br />Another part of the appeal is that by drawing a<br />boundary around the principal image, an internal<br />frame is evidence of organization. A measure of<br />control has been imposed on the scene. Limits<br />have been set, and the image held back from<br />flowing over the edges. Some feelings of stability<br />and even rigidity enter into this, and this type<br />of photograph lacks the casual, freewheeling<br />associations that you can see in, for example, classic<br />journalistic or reportage photography. As a result,<br />frames within frames appeal to a certain aspect<br />of our personalities. It is a fundamental part of<br />human nature to want to impose control on the<br />environment, and this has an immediate corollary<br />in placing a structure on images. It feels satisfying<br />to see that the elements of a picture have been<br />defined and placed under a kind of control.<br />On a purely graphic level, frames focus the<br />attention of the viewer because they establish<br />a diminishing direction from the outer picture<br />frame. The internal frame draws the eye in by<br />one step, particularly if it is similar in shape to<br />the picture format. This momentum is then<br />easily continued further into the picture. Another<br />important design opportunity to note is the<br />shape relationship between the two frames. As<br />we saw when we looked at the dynamics of the<br />basic frame, the angles and shapes that are set up<br />between the boundary of the picture and lines<br />inside the image are important. This is especially<br />so with a continuous edge inside the picture. The<br />graphic relationship between the two frames is<br />strongest when the gap between them is narrow.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-15733316162536132432008-12-21T16:35:00.001-08:002008-12-21T16:35:56.214-08:00HORIZONProbably the most common photographic<br />situation in which the frame must be divided<br />cleanly and precisely is the one that includes the<br />horizon line. In landscapes of the type shown<br />on these pages it becomes the dominant graphic<br />element, the more so if there are no outstanding<br />points of interest in the scene.<br />Plainly, if the line of the horizon is the only<br />significant graphic element, placing it becomes<br />a matter of some importance, and the simple<br />case is when it is actually horizontal (no hilly<br />contours). There is a natural tendency to place<br />the line lower in the frame than higher, related to<br />the association of the bottom of the picture frame<br />with a base. We explore this later, on pages 40-43<br />(Balance), but a low placement for most things<br />in principle gives a greater sense of stability.<br />This apart, the question of the exact position<br />remains open. One method is to use the linear<br />relationships described on the preceding pages.<br />Another is to balance the tones or colors (see<br />pages 118-121 for the principles of combining<br />colors according to their relative brightness).<br />Yet another method is to divide the frame<br />according to what you see as the intrinsic<br />importance of the ground and sky. For instance,<br />the foreground may be uninteresting, distracting,<br />or in some other way unwanted, while the skyscape<br />is dynamic, and this might argue for a very low<br />horizon, almost to the edge of the frame. There are<br />examples of this here and elsewhere in this book<br />(cropping, as discussed on pages 20-21, is another<br />opportunity to explore these considerations). In<br />the shot of Lake Inle, the form of the clouds is<br />definitely worth making part of the image, but<br />the clouds are too delicate in tone simply to use a<br />wider angle of lens and include more of the dark<br />foreground. They can register properly only if the<br />proportion of the ground is severely reduced so<br />that it does not overwhelm the picture.<br />If, on the other hand, there is some distinct<br />feature of interest in the foreground, this will<br />encourage a higher position for the horizon.<br />Indeed, if the sky has no graphic value and the<br />foreground has plenty of interest, it may make<br />more sense to reverse whatever subdivision you<br />choose, and place the horizon much closer to<br />the top of the frame.<br />There is, needless to say, no ideal position<br />even for any one particular scene and angle<br />of view. Given this, and the kind of decisions<br />just mentioned, there may be good reasons<br />for experimenting with different positions.<br />There is little point, however, in simply starting<br />low and moving progressively higher without<br />considering the influences and reasons. As the<br />pair of photographs shot in Monument Valley<br />illustrates, different horizon positions can have<br />equal validity, depending on the circumstances<br />of the picture, and also on personal taste.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-83306238001862244422008-12-21T16:33:00.002-08:002008-12-21T16:35:19.154-08:00DIVIDING THE FRAMEAny image, of any kind, automatically creates<br />a division of the picture frame. Something<br />like a prominent horizon line does this very<br />obviously, but even a small object against a bland<br />background (a point, in other words) makes an<br />implied division. Look at any of the pictures in<br />this book which comprise a single small subject—<br />shifting the position of the subject changes the<br />areas into which the frame is divided.<br />There are, naturally, an infinite number of<br />possible divisions, but the most interesting ones<br />are those that bear a definable relationship to<br />each other. Division is essentially a matter of<br />proportion, and this has preoccupied artists<br />in different periods of history. During the<br />Renaissance, in particular, considerable attention<br />was given to dividing the picture frame by<br />geometry. This has interesting implications<br />for photography, for while a painter creates<br />the structure of a picture from nothing, a<br />photographer usually has little such opportunity,<br />so much less reason to worry about exact<br />proportions. Nevertheless, different proportions<br />evoke certain responses in the viewer, whether<br />they were calculated exactly or not.<br />During the Renaissance, a number of painters<br />realized that proportions of division based on<br />simple numbers (like 1:1, 2:1, or 3:2) produced an<br />essentially static division. By contrast, a dynamic<br />division could be made by constructing more<br />interesting ratios. The Golden Section, which<br />was known to the Greeks, is the best known<br />“harmonious” division. As outlined below, the<br />Golden Section is based on pure geometry, and<br />photographers almost never have either the need<br />or the opportunity to construct it. Its importance<br />lies in the fact that all the areas are integrally<br />related; the ratio of the small section to the large<br />one is the same as that of the large section to the<br />complete frame. They are tied together, hence the<br />idea that they give a sense of harmony.<br />The logic of this may not seem completely<br />obvious at first, but it underlies more than just<br />the subdivision of a picture frame. The argument<br />is that there are objective physical principles<br />that underlie harmony. In this case, they are<br />geometric, and while we may not be aware of<br />them in operation, they still produce a predictable<br />effect. The subdivision of a standard 3:2 frame<br />according to the Golden Section is shown<br />opposite. Precision is not of major importance,<br />as the photographs show.<br />The Golden Section is not the only way of<br />making a harmonious division. It is not even the<br />only method in which the ratios are integrally<br />related. Another basis, also from the Renaissance,<br />is the Fibonacci series—a sequence of numbers<br />in which each is the sum of the previous two:<br />1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, and so on. In yet another method,<br />the frame is subdivided according to the ratio of<br />its own sides. There is, indeed, a massive variety<br />of subdivisions that obey some internal principle,<br />and they all have the potential to make workable<br />and interesting images.<br />This is all very well for a painter or illustrator,<br />but how can photography make sensible use of<br />it? Certainly, no-one is going to use a calculator<br />to plan the division of a photograph. Intuitive<br />composition is the only practical approach for<br />the majority of photographs. The most useful<br />approach to dividing a frame into areas is to<br />prime your eye by becoming familiar with the<br />nuances of harmony in different proportions.<br />If you know them well, intuitive composition<br />will naturally become more finely tuned. As<br />photographers, we may be able to ignore the<br />geometry, but we can not ignore the fact that<br />these proportions are fundamentally satisfying.<br />Notice also that, by dividing the frame in both<br />directions, an intersection is produced, and this<br />makes a generally satisfying location for a point,<br />or any other focus of attention.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-88696269023646138662008-12-21T16:33:00.001-08:002008-12-21T16:33:39.191-08:00PLACEMENTIn any construction involving one, obvious<br />subject, other than filling the frame with it,<br />there is always the decision of where to place it,<br />remaining sensitive to the proportions of the<br />space surrounding it. As soon as you allow free<br />space around the subject, its position becomes an<br />issue. It has to be placed, consciously, somewhere<br />within the frame. Logically, it might seem that<br />the natural position is right in the middle with<br />equal space around, and indeed, there are many<br />occasions when this holds true. If there are no<br />other elements in the picture, why not?<br />One compelling reason why not is that it is<br />very predictable—and, if repeated, boring. We are<br />faced with a conflicting choice. On the one hand,<br />there is a desire to do something interesting with<br />the design and escape the bull’s-eye method of<br />framing a subject. On the other hand, placing the<br />subject anywhere but in a natural position needs a<br />reason. If you place a subject right in the corner of<br />an otherwise empty frame, you need a justification,<br />or the design becomes simply perverse. Eccentric<br />composition can work extremely well, but as we<br />will see later in the book, its success depends on<br />there being some purpose behind it.<br />The importance of placement increases as<br />the subject becomes smaller in the frame. In<br />the photograph of the sentry on page 15, we are<br />not really conscious that the figure is actually in<br />any position in the frame. It is, in fact, centered<br />but with not so much space around it as to be<br />obvious. With the photograph of the waterbound<br />hamlet here, we are made very aware of<br />its position in the frame because it is obviously<br />isolated and surrounded by ocean. Some offcenteredness<br />is usually desirable simply in order<br />to set up a relationship between the subject and<br />its background. A position dead center is so<br />stable as to have no dynamic tension at all. If<br />slightly away from the middle, the subject tends<br />to appear to be more in context. There are also<br />considerations of harmony and balance, which<br />we’ll come to in the next chapter.<br />In practice, other elements do creep into<br />most images, and even a slight secondary point<br />of interest is usually enough to influence the<br />placement of the subject. In the case of the stilted<br />houses, we aware of the position of the sun above<br />and left; there is an inferred relationship here, one<br />that makes it natural to offset the houses slightly<br />in the opposite direction.<br />Vectors can also influence an off-center<br />position. For instance, if the subject is obviously<br />in motion, and its direction is plain, then the<br />natural tendency is to have it entering the frame<br />rather than leaving it. I emphasize the word<br />natural, however, because there may always be<br />special reasons for doing things differently—and<br />different usually gets more attention. In a more<br />general sense, subjects that “face” in one direction<br />(not necessarily literally) also often fit more<br />comfortably so that they are offset, so that<br />some of the direction they “see” is in the frame.<br />As a rule of thumb, when the setting<br />is significant—that is, when it can actually<br />contribute to the idea behind the picture—then<br />it is worth considering this kind of composition,<br />in which the subject occupies only a small area. In<br />the case of the houses in the sea, the whole point<br />of the picture is that people live in such unusual<br />circumstances: surrounded by water. Closing in<br />would miss the point. Unfortunately, moving<br />further back would only reduce the size of the<br />houses so much that they would be indecipherable,<br />although it would show still more ocean.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-64279686245729363972008-12-21T16:32:00.001-08:002008-12-21T16:32:56.532-08:00FILLING THE FRAMEIn order to be able to talk about the different<br />graphic elements in composition, and to<br />look at the way they interact, the first thing we<br />must do is to isolate them, choosing the most<br />basic situations for composing pictures. A little<br />caution is needed here, because in practice there<br />is usually a multitude of possibilities, and a single,<br />isolated subject is something of a special case. The<br />examples here may seem a little obvious, but at<br />this stage we need clear, uncluttered examples.<br />The most basic of all photographic situations<br />is one single, obvious subject in front of the<br />camera, but even this presents two options. We<br />have an immediate choice: whether to close<br />right in so that it fills up the picture frame, or<br />to pull back so that we can see something of its<br />surroundings. What would influence the choice?<br />One consideration is the information content of<br />the picture. Obviously, the larger the subject is<br />in the photograph, the more detail of it can be<br />shown. If it is something unusual and interesting,<br />this may be paramount; if very familiar, perhaps<br />not. For example, if a wildlife photographer has<br />tracked down a rare animal, we would reasonably<br />expect to see as much of it as possible.<br />Another consideration is the relationship<br />between the subject and its setting. Are the<br />surroundings important, either to the content of<br />the shot or to its design? In the studio, subjects<br />are often set against neutral backgrounds; then<br />the setting has nothing to tell the viewer, and<br />its only value is for composition. Outside the<br />studio, however, settings nearly always have some<br />relevance. They can show scale (a climber on a<br />rock-face) or something about the activity of<br />the subject.<br />A third factor is the subjective relationship<br />that the photographer wants to create between<br />the viewer and the subject. If presence is<br />important, and the subject needs to be imposing,<br />then taking the viewer right up to it by filling<br />the frame is a reasonable option. There are<br />some mechanical matters involved, such as the<br />ultimate size of the picture when displayed, the<br />focal length of lens, and the scale of the subject<br />to begin with. Nevertheless, a big subject filling<br />the frame of a big picture usually acquires force<br />and impact. Moreover, as the examples here show,<br />there can also be a satisfying precision in just<br />matching subject to frame—particularly if the<br />image has to be composed rapidly.<br />The shape of the subject in relation to the<br />format of the frame clearly has an effect. In the<br />sequence of the Hong Kong ferry on the right,<br />the main picture shows a very satisfactory fit:<br />the boat from this angle just reaches the edges all<br />round. In the majority of single-subject pictures,<br />however, the focus of attention does not fill the<br />frame. The shape may not coincide with the<br />format of the picture (cropping is always possible,<br />but it is not necessarily elegant, and it may not<br />suit the intended display method). Another<br />possible risk with running the edges of the subject<br />right up to the borders of the picture is that the<br />eye may feel uncomfortable concentrating on<br />points falling very near the edges of the picture.<br />It often needs—or at least benefits from—a little<br />free area around a subject to be able to move<br />without feeling constricted.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-36835138140228404872008-12-21T16:27:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:32:13.045-08:00CROPPINGCropping is an editing skill that was highly<br />developed during the days of black-andwhite<br />photography, lapsed somewhat in the color<br />slide era, and is now revived fully as an integral<br />part of preparing the final digital image. Even<br />when the framing as shot is judged to be fine,<br />technical adjustments such as lens distortion<br />correction will demand it.<br />Cropping is one way of reworking the image<br />well after it has been shot; an option for deferring<br />design decisions, and even of exploring new ways<br />of organizing an image. Unlike stitching, however,<br />it reduces the size of the image, so demands a<br />high resolution to begin with. In traditional<br />enlarger printing, the enlarging easel itself acts<br />as a cropping guide, but it may be easier to<br />experiment first with L-shaped cropping masks<br />on film (on a light box) or a contact sheet. With<br />digital images (or scanned film), the process<br />is infinitely easier and clearer, using software<br />cropping tools.<br />It is important not to think of cropping as<br />a design panacea or as an excuse for not being<br />decisive at the time of shooting. The danger of<br />having the opportunity to alter and manipulate<br />a frame after it is shot is that it can lull you into<br />imagining that you can perform a significant<br />proportion of photography on the computer.<br />Cropping introduces an interruption in the<br />process of making a photograph, and most<br />images benefit from continuity of vision.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-65750483782270732262008-12-21T16:26:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:27:31.460-08:00STITCHING AND EXTENDINGDigital stitching software has evolved into<br />a widely used tool for creating images<br />that are larger and wider. These are actually<br />two separate functions. Shooting a scene with<br />a longer focal length in overlapping frames is<br />one technique for achieving higher resolution<br />and so larger printed images—an equivalent<br />of large-format photography. From the point<br />of view of this book, however, the interest is in<br />changing the shape of the final image. This tends<br />to be panoramic, as long horizontal images have<br />an enduring appeal for reasons we’ll go into<br />shortly, but there is also complete freedom, as the<br />examples here show. What is often overlooked<br />is the effect this stitching has on the process<br />of shooting, because it demands anticipation<br />of how the final image will look. There is no<br />preview at the time, and this is a situation new<br />to photography—that of having to imagine what<br />the final image and frame shape will be. It gives<br />stitched, extended images an unpredictability<br />which can be refreshing.<br />Panoramas have a special place in photography.<br />Even though proportions that exceed 2:1 seem to<br />be extreme, for landscapes and other scenic views,<br />they are actually very satisfying. To understand<br />why, we have to look again at the way human<br />vision works. We see by scanning, not by taking in<br />a scene in a single, frozen instant. The eye’s focus<br />of attention roams around the view, usually very<br />quickly, and the brain builds up the information.<br />All of the standard photographic formats—and<br />most painting formats, for that matter—are<br />areas that can be absorbed in one rapid scanning<br />sequence. The normal process of looking at the<br />picture is to take in as much as possible in one<br />prolonged glance, and then to return to details that<br />seem interesting. A panorama, however, allows the<br />eye to consider only a part of the image at a time,<br />but this is by no means a disadvantage, because it<br />replicates the way we look at any real scene. Apart<br />from adding an element of realism to the picture,<br />this slows down the viewing process, and, in<br />theory at least, prolongs the interest of exploring<br />the image. All of this depends, however, on the<br />photograph being reproduced fairly large and<br />viewed from sufficiently close.<br />This virtue of the panorama—to draw the<br />viewer in and present some of the image only to<br />the peripheral vision—is regularly exploited in<br />the cinema, where an elongated screen is normal.<br />Special projection systems, such as Cinerama<br />and IMAX, are premised on the realistic effect<br />of wrapping the image around the viewer. Still<br />panoramic images have a similar effect.<br />The frame can also be extended in postproduction<br />in other ways, by stretching (using<br />warping, distortion, and other geometric software<br />tools, and even by cloning). Certain images lend<br />themselves to being extended in one or more<br />directions—for instance, extending the sky<br />upwards, or widening the background in a studio<br />still-life. Magazine layouts often suggest this,<br />although there are ethical considerations with this<br />kind of manipulation, in that the final image is<br />not necessarily as it was seen.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-56161210814804813102008-12-21T16:19:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:26:34.343-08:00FRAME SHAPEThe shape of the viewfinder frame (and LCD<br />screen) has a huge influence on the form that<br />the image takes. Despite the ease of cropping it<br />later, there exists a powerful intuitive pressure<br />at the time of shooting to compose right up to<br />the edges of the frame. Indeed, it takes years of<br />experience to ignore those parts of an image that<br />are not being used, and some photographers<br />never get used to this.<br />Most photography is composed to a few<br />rigidly defined formats (aspect ratios), unlike<br />in other graphic arts. Until digital photography,<br />by far the most common format was 3:2—that<br />of the standard 35mm camera, measuring<br />36x24mm—but now that the physical width<br />of film is no longer a constraint, the majority<br />of low- and middle-end cameras have adopted<br />the less elongated, more “natural” 4:3 format that<br />fits more comfortably on printing papers and<br />monitor displays. The question of which aspect<br />ratios are perceived as the most comfortable<br />is a study in its own right, but in principle,<br />there seems to be a tendency toward longer<br />horizontally (the increasing popularity of widescreen<br />and letterbox formats for television), but<br />less elongated for vertically composed images.<br />THE 3:2 FRAME<br />This is the classic 35mm frame, which has been<br />transferred seamlessly to digital SLRs, creating<br />in the process a sort of class distinction between<br />professional and serious amateur photographers<br />on the one hand, and everyone else on the other.<br />The reason for these proportions is a matter<br />of historical accident; there are no compelling<br />aesthetic reasons why it should be so. Indeed,<br />more “natural” proportions would be less<br />elongated, as evidenced by the bulk of the ways in<br />which images are displayed—painting canvases,<br />computer monitors, photographic printing paper,<br />book and magazine formats, and so on. Part of<br />the historical reason was that 35mm film was<br />long considered too small for good enlargements,<br />and the elongated shape gave more area.<br />Nevertheless, its popularity demonstrates how<br />easily our sense of intuitive composition adapts.<br />Overwhelmingly, this format is shot<br />horizontally, and there are three reasons for this.<br />The first is pure ergonomics. It is difficult to<br />design a camera used at eye level so that it is just as<br />easy to photograph vertically as horizontally, and<br />few manufacturers have even bothered. SLRs are<br />made to be used for horizontal pictures. Turning<br />them on their side is just not as comfortable, and<br />most photographers tend to avoid it. The second<br />reason is more fundamental. Our binocular<br />vision means that we see horizontally. There is no<br />frame as such, as human vision involves paying<br />attention to local detail and scanning a scene<br />rapidly, rather than taking in a sharp overall view<br />all at once. <br />The net result is that a horizontal frame<br />is natural and unremarkable. It influences the<br />composition of an image, but not in an insistent,<br />outstanding way. It conforms to the horizon,<br />and so to most overall landscapes and general<br />views. The horizontal component to the frame<br />encourages a horizontal arrangement of elements,<br />naturally enough. It is marginally more natural to<br />place an image lower in the frame than higher—<br />this tends to enhance the sensation of stability—<br />but in any particular photograph there are likely<br />to be many other influences. Placing a subject<br />or horizon high in the frame produces a slight<br />downward-looking, head-lowered sensation,<br />which can have mildly negative associations.<br />For naturally vertical subjects, however, the<br />elongation of a 2:3 frame is an advantage, and the<br />human figure, standing, is the most commonly<br />found vertical subject—a fortunate coincidence,<br />as in most other respects the 2:3 proportions are<br />rarely completely satisfactory.<br />Human vision<br />Our natural view of the world is in<br />the form of a vague-edged, horizontal oval, and<br />a standard horizontal film frame is a reasonable<br />approximation. The final reason is that 3:2<br />proportions are often perceptually too elongated<br />to work comfortably in portrait composition.<br />4:3 AND SIMILAR FRAMES<br />Traditionally, and once again with digital<br />photography and on-screen presentations, these<br />“fatter” frames are the most “natural” image<br />formats. In other words, they are the least insistent<br />and most accommodating to the eye. In the days<br />when there was a rich variety of large-format film,<br />formats included 5×4-inch, 10×8-inch, 14×11-<br />inch, and 8½×6½-inch. There is now a reduced<br />choice, but the proportions all work in much the<br />same way, and equally for rollfilm formats, digital<br />backs, and lower-end digital cameras.<br />In terms of composition, the frame dynamics<br />impose less on the image, because there is less of<br />a dominant direction than with 3:2. At the same<br />time, that there is a distinction between height<br />and width is important in helping the eye settle<br />into the view, with the understanding that the<br />view is horizontal or vertical. Compare this with<br />the difficulties of a square format, which often<br />suffers from lack of direction. As noted opposite,<br />these proportions are very comfortable for most<br />vertically composed images.<br />SQUARE<br />While all other photographic frames are<br />rectangular, with varying proportions, one is<br />fixed: the square. A few film cameras have this<br />unusual format—unusual in that very few images<br />lend themselves well to square composition. In<br />general, it is the most difficult format to work<br />with, and most design strategies for a square<br />frame are concerned with escaping the tyranny<br />of its perfect equilibrium.<br />We ought to look a little more closely at<br />why most subjects are ill-suited to a square<br />arrangement. In part, this has to do with the axis<br />of the subject. Few shapes are so compact that<br />they have no alignment. Most things are longer<br />in one direction than in another, and it is natural<br />to align the main axis of an image with the longer<br />sides of a rectangular picture frame. Hence, most<br />broad landscape views are generally handled as<br />horizontal pictures, and most standing figures<br />as verticals.<br />The square, however, has absolutely no bias.<br />Its sides are in perfect 1:1 proportions, and its<br />influence is a very precise and stable division<br />of space. Here lies the second reason for the<br />unsympathetic nature of square proportions: they<br />impose a formal rigidity on the image. It is hard<br />to escape the feeling of geometry when working<br />with a square frame, and the symmetry of the<br />sides and corners keeps reminding the eye of<br />the center.<br />Occasionally a precise symmetrical image is<br />interesting; it makes a change from the normally<br />imprecise design of most photographs. However,<br />a few such images quickly become a surfeit. It<br />is fairly normal for photographers who work<br />consistently with a square-format camera to<br />imagine a vertical or horizontal direction to the<br />picture, and to crop the resulting image later.<br />Practically, this means composing fairly loosely in<br />the viewfinder, to allow a certain amount of free<br />space either at the sides or at the top and bottom.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-69174816796664434162008-12-21T16:16:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:19:22.989-08:00FRAME DYNAMICShe setting for the image is the picture frame.<br />In photography, the format of this frame<br />is fixed at the time of shooting, although it is<br />always possible later to adjust the shape of the<br />frame to the picture you have taken. Nevertheless,<br />whatever opportunities exist for later changes<br />(see pages 58-61), do not underestimate the<br />influence of the viewfinder on composition.<br />Most cameras offer a view of the world as a<br />bright rectangle surrounded by blackness, and<br />the presence of the frame is usually strongly felt.<br />Even though experience may help you to ignore<br />the dimensions of the viewfinder frame in order<br />to shoot to a different format, intuition will work<br />against this, encouraging you to make a design<br />that feels satisfying at the time of shooting.<br />The most common picture area is the one<br />shown at the top of this page: that of a horizontal<br />frame in the proportions 3:2. Professionally, this is<br />the most widely used camera format, and holding<br />it horizontally is the easiest method. As an empty<br />frame it has certain dynamic influences, as the<br />diagram shows, although these tend to be felt<br />only in very minimal and delicately toned images.<br />More often, the dynamics of lines, shapes, and<br />colors in the photograph take over completely.<br />Depending on the subject and on the<br />treatment the photographer chooses, the<br />edges of the frame can have a strong or weak<br />influence on the image. The examples shown<br />here are all ones in which the horizontal and<br />vertical borders, and the corners, contribute<br />strongly to the design of the photographs.<br />They have been used as references for diagonal<br />lines within the pictures, and the angles that<br />have been created are important features.<br />What these photographs demonstrate is that<br />the frame can be made to interact strongly with<br />the lines of the image, but that this depends on<br />the photographer’s intention. If you choose to<br />shoot more loosely, in a casual snapshot fashion,<br />the frame will not seem so important.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-12224475066045914412008-12-21T16:14:00.000-08:002008-12-21T16:15:30.609-08:00INTRODUCTIONhilosophical, lyrical, sometimes obscure<br />commentaries on how photographs are made<br />and what they mean are thick on the ground,<br />usually by non-photographers. Not that there<br />is anything at all wrong with the perceptive<br />outsider’s view; indeed, the distance of this kind<br />of objectivity brings new, valuable insights.<br />Roland Barthes even held his non-understanding<br />of photographic processes (“I could not join the<br />troupe of those…who deal with Photographyaccording-<br />to-the-Photographer”) as an advantage<br />in investigating the subject (“I resolved to start<br />my inquiry with no more than a few photographs,<br />the ones I was sure existed for me. Nothing to do<br />with a corpus...”).<br />This book, however, is intended to be<br />different, to explore the actual process of taking<br />photographs. I think I’d like to call it an insider’s<br />view, though that smacks of hubris, because I’m<br />drawing on the experience of photographers,<br />myself included, at the time of shooting. A<br />great deal goes on in the process of making an<br />exposure that is not at all obvious to someone<br />else seeing the result later. This will never prevent<br />art critics and historians from supplying their<br />own interpretations, which may be extremely<br />interesting but not necessarily have anything to<br />do with the circumstances and intentions of the<br />photographer. What I will attempt to do here is to<br />show how photographers compose their images,<br />according to their intentions, moods, and abilities,<br />and how the many skills of organizing an image<br />in the viewfinder can be improved and shared.<br />The important decisions in photography,<br />digital or otherwise, are those concerned with<br />the image itself: the reasons for taking it, and<br />the way it looks. The technology, of course, is<br />vital, but the best it can do is to help realize ideas<br />and perception. Photographers have always had<br />a complex and shifting relationship with their<br />equipment. In part there is the fascination with<br />the new, with gadgets, with bright, shiny toys.<br />At the same time there is, at least among those<br />who are reasonably self-confident, a belief that<br />their innate ability overrides the mere mechanics<br />of cameras. We need the equipment and yet are<br />cautious, sometimes even dismissive about it.<br />One of the things that is clearly needed for<br />successful photography is a proper balance in this<br />conflict. Nevertheless, there have been very few<br />attempts in publishing to deal comprehensively<br />with composition in photography, as opposed to<br />the technical issues. This is a rich and demanding<br />subject, too often trivialized even when not<br />ignored outright. Most people using a camera<br />for the first time try to master the controls but<br />ignore the ideas. They photograph intuitively,<br />liking or disliking what they see without stopping<br />to think why, and framing the view in the<br />same way. Anyone who does it well is a natural<br />photographer. But knowing in advance why some<br />compositions or certain combinations of colors<br />seem to work better than others, better equips<br />any photographer.<br />One important reason why intuitive rather<br />than informed photography is so common is<br />that shooting is such an easy, immediate process.<br />Whatever the level of thought and planning<br />that goes into a photograph, from none to<br />considerable, the image is created in an instant,<br />as soon as the shutter release is pressed. This<br />means that a picture can always be taken casually<br />and without thought, and because it can, it often<br />is. Johannes Itten, the great Bauhaus teacher in<br />Germany in the 1920s, talking about color in art,<br />told his students: “If you, unknowing, are able to<br />create masterpieces in color, then unknowledge<br />is your way. But if you are unable to create<br />masterpieces in color out of your unknowledge,<br />then you ought to look for knowledge.” This<br />applies to art in general, including photography.<br />In shooting, you can rely on natural ability or on<br />a good knowledge of the principles of design. In<br />other graphic arts, design is taught as a matter<br />of course. In photography it has received less<br />attention than it deserves, and here I set out to<br />redress some of this lack.<br />A relatively new element is the rapid shift<br />from film-based photography to digital, and<br />this, at least in my opinion, has the potential<br />to revitalize design. Because so much of the<br />image workflow between shooting and printing<br />is now placed on the computer in the hands of<br />the photographer, most of us now spend much<br />more time looking at and doing things to images.<br />This alone encourages more study, more analysis<br />of images and their qualities. Moreover, digital<br />post-production, with all its many possible<br />adjustments of brightness, contrast, and color,<br />restores to photographers the control over the<br />final image that was inherent in black-and-white<br />film photography but extremely difficult in color.<br />This comprehensive control inevitably affects<br />composition, and the simple fact that so much<br />can be done with an image in post-production<br />increases the need to consider the image and its<br />possibilities ever more carefully.delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-80915906757393770722008-06-18T01:29:00.000-07:002008-06-18T01:33:37.698-07:00Extreme photo retouching<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/P4wI_o8gyxA&hl=en"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/P4wI_o8gyxA&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-26446872865187982042008-06-11T23:46:00.000-07:002008-06-11T23:47:42.316-07:00Texture tutorial<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidW_Hvr_8pptVQTlgKliY6ZIbJpZPJv-rUgXG_mT68-Qy0ST37PWc-W1OlvqPM4nI2yaUK2NJ4vp1DwbSaVKdawdLYEitNn45v8HCKGuqnHVUt_l84V6QXScotB0SVRnXepxLeP2cjDBDe/s1600-h/Texture_Tutorial_by_kayceeus.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidW_Hvr_8pptVQTlgKliY6ZIbJpZPJv-rUgXG_mT68-Qy0ST37PWc-W1OlvqPM4nI2yaUK2NJ4vp1DwbSaVKdawdLYEitNn45v8HCKGuqnHVUt_l84V6QXScotB0SVRnXepxLeP2cjDBDe/s400/Texture_Tutorial_by_kayceeus.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5210883025045469538" border="0" /></a>delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-5668475939906960892008-06-09T11:07:00.001-07:002008-06-09T11:27:36.435-07:00Smashing Texture<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://88.198.60.17/images/texture-contest/ZildaBorges2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://88.198.60.17/images/texture-contest/ZildaBorges2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://88.198.60.17/images/texture-contest/Beach_towels.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px;" src="http://88.198.60.17/images/texture-contest/Beach_towels.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />I found some great textures<br />for download see <a href="http://www.smashingmagazine.com/2008/05/27/smashing-texture-contest-results/">HERE</a> and <a href="http://www.smashingmagazine.com/texture-gallery-nature-flowers-plants/">HERE</a><br />of course thet you can find more if you search on the sitedelphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1051193083646543965.post-6434374713730501282008-04-17T14:24:00.000-07:002008-04-17T14:33:00.689-07:00Shoot Like a Pro! Digital Photography Techniques by Julie Adair King Free DownloadShoot Like a Pro!<br />DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY TECHNIQUES<br />Julie Adair King<br /><br /><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?d9lgbq4w3mp">DOWNLOAD HERE</a><br /><br />Through a series of tutorial projects, author Julie Adair King shows readers how to light shots, choose the right camera settings, use camera accessories and photographic software, and much more. You’ll learn step-by-step to use your existing digital camera for professional results. Set up a home studio, create a 360-degree panoramic image, learn low light and action photography, work in black and white, and adopt many other professional techniques.<br /><br />From the Back Cover<br /><br />Special color section: 35 secrets the pros know!<br /><br />Take your digital photography to the next level with help from this wonderfully written guidebook. Best-selling author Julie Adair King shows you the secrets that professional photographers use to capture memorable portraits, spectacular nature and travel images, and eye-catching product shots. You'll find out how to take full advantage of your digital camera's features, from exposure controls to resolution options, and learn techniques that will help you get a perfect picture every time--even in difficult lighting and other challenging situations!<br /><br />Discover the best camera settings to use for different photographic projects<br />Gain control over exposure, focus, color, and contrast with traditional filters and digital tools<br />Find out how to take better close-ups, panoramic images, nighttime pictures, and action shots<br />Improve your pictures with easy lighting techniques<br />Learn the secrets to shooting glass, metal, and other reflective subjects<br />Build a home or office studio using affordable alternatives to high-priced professional equipment<br />Save money by taking portraits and product shots yourself instead of hiring a professional photographer<br />Learn to identify beautiful compositions in everyday scenes<br />Make great, long-lasting prints and prepare pictures for a Web page or an online album<br /><br />----------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Very good tips and tricks to know when shooting ....<br /><br />----------------------------------------------------------------------------<br /><br />Publisher: McGraw-Hill Osborne Media<br />ISBN-10: 0072229497<br />ISBN-13: 978-0072229493<br />Year: July 28, 2003<br />Pages: 256 <br />Lang: English<br />Format: PDF<br />Size: 9.2 Mb<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shoot-Like-Digital-Photography-Techniques/dp/0072229497">More details HERE</a><br /><a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?d9lgbq4w3mp">DOWNLOAD HERE</a>delphyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15068703198272774475noreply@blogger.com1