Meaning in photography is a slippery
subject to pin down; it's like trying to define ’thinking’. Yet I'm still
convinced it's a necessary element, no matter how vaguely or with what art or
artifice it is presented to the viewer. It's about fleshing out our pictures so
they are beyond the trivial record, beyond the postcard of ’I was here’.
Meaning does not depend on narrative.
There must be a narrative, but it could be internal, within the photographer’s
mind rather than expressed explicitly as a story within the picture(s). Meaning
is as much about the meeting of minds, the shared experience as it is about
storytelling itself. The crook of the matter is in the quality of that shared
experience, whether it gives pause for thought or is a one dimensional, often
purely emotional, response.
Meaning doesn't preclude emotion,
it's important to assert the legitimacy of a connection, but it can be diluted
by emotion, until it is unrecognisable. This isn't an argument for restraint,
but to give due consideration to all the elements and facets within an image
and not to rely on one element alone.
Photography without some degree of
meaning is probably virtually impossible. Even without the intent to say
something a photograph can, and sometimes will, be interpreted for it's meaning
by someone, somewhere. It's all too easy to fall into the trap of assuming the
multitudes of photographs that are shared are meaningless, or trivial because
of their sheer volume.
Yet, if we are to define a
photographer as beyond a 'camera operator’, as someone who exerts some control
of not merely the technical aspects, but also the intent of the image, then
some degree of construction of images becomes inevitable.
Constructing an image sounds
artificial, it sounds like it detracts from the immediate response. Yet all
images are constructed to some extent whether it be the simple response to
document a moment or by repeating a visual response to a scene that one has
seen before. Simply by choosing what we photograph we construct an image. The
secret lies in the qualities of the construction.
If we stop to consider how and why
photographs are constructed then we are well on the way to becoming a
photographer in the fullest sense. But it is only when we stop to consider the 'how and why and what' in our own work that we achieve the full realisation of
that title.
How then do we exert some degree of
control over the meaning of an image or a series of images? It is partly about editing what we
photograph and partly about how and why we photograph. In simple terms the
elements within a frame can be arranged to infer meaning, but this is difficult
to achieve unless we are aware of what it is we want the image to say. Thinking
about what we want to achieve before we even pick up a camera creates a
framework through which we can exercise discretion over what and how we
photograph. If we have an idea about what we want to say we can start to decide
what to photograph and how to photograph it to convey that message.
The quality of that thinking process
is extremely important. It is remarkably easy to construct a simple, one-dimensional
concept, but to construct one which will have lasting depth is the work of a
lifetime. The work of a poet or a composer and a photographer are not
dissimilar, we all look for the tiny resonances that can lead to a bigger
picture.
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