I often receive requests to show some “before and after” images to help people understand how much of my work is done in camera and how much is done in Photoshop.  I’d say it’s generally about 50/50 but that can vary by image with some images almost ready right out of the camera and many requiring extensive processing in Photoshop.

Lone Man No. 20 is a good example of a 50/50 image.  As you can see, the image I started with and the final image are both quite similar and yet quite different.  The original shot has all of the important elements; the composition, the long exposure of the water, the clouds and the lone man, but it doesn’t have the dramatic effect of the final image.

Probably the first change you’ll notice in the final image is that the severe vignetting has been repaired.  I was shooting with an extremely wide angle lens and I had two stacked neutral density filters on my lens, as a result a great deal of the filter was included in the photograph.  To repair this I first cropped the image and then I used the clone tool to fill in the missing corners.

Next you’ll notice that the sky in the original image has very low contrast and is quite bland.  To bring out the sky detail I split the image into two halves, upper and lower, and converted them to b&w differently.  In each conversion I used Photoshop’s “Channel Mixer” but in the upper half I used some blue channel to improve the contrast and detail in of the sky.  Next I used some pretty aggressive dodging and burning to bring out the definition and detail in the clouds, this information was in the image but it was almost hidden to the eye.  As a rule you can generally recover image detail as long as you have not over-exposed the image to the point that you have blown out the highlights.

Note: one of the side-effects of using blue channel in the conversion and dodging and burning is that the image can get very grainy.  When using this technique you must carefully balance the good-effects with side-effects.

Next I converted the lower half of the image to b&w, darkened the image and greatly enhanced the contrast.  This dark and contrasty approach is the look that I like and it often has the effect of making daytime look like night time.  The March/April issue of Photo Technique Magazine featured an article on my work and they used the phrase “Darkness at Noon” to describe this look.

All of this produced a basic final image, but it still didn’t have the dramatic impact I was seeking and that I had pre-visualized before I captured the image.  So my final step was to dodge and burn to bring out the highlights and selectively darken blacks to locally enhance contrast.  As I did this I carefully monitored the histogram below:

This histogram shows that I have a good black and a good white, something your eye cannot always discern when looking at the image on the screen.  Monitors are often out of adjustment and our eyes can be fooled, but the histogram never lies.  People often complain to me that what looked good to them on screen, often prints flat and muddy.  Generally the problem is revealed in their histogram; they lack a “true” black and good contrast. 

As you can see from my final image, it does not represent reality.  Reality is not my goal but instead I strive create images that reflect how I see the scene through my vision.  That is why I advocate that photographers work just as hard on developing their vision, as they do on their technical skills and equipment.  The image begins and ends in your mind’s eye.

Where do you find the “great” shots?  It’s a question I’ve been thinking a lot about lately.

Earlier in my career I thought that you had to go to a great location to get a great shot.  You know; Death Valley, the wilds of Africa or the mountains of New Zealand.  These are beautiful locations and so it made sense to me that I would produce great images there.

Then I went through a period where I believed that great shots were everywhere and all that was needed was the vision to “see” them.  I remember reading a statement by Edward Weston, who infirm and confined to a chair said that he ought to be able to look down at his feet and find a great image. 

That’s a great theory, but what’s the reality?  Does location contribute to the creative process?  Can I really find great images in my own back yard?

My actual experience has been mixed;  I have been to some great locations that have produced some great shots but there have been other times when I couldn’t see a thing, only to find another photographer had created incredible work at the same place.  I  would look at their images and marvel how it was that I didn’t see that.  Conversely I’ve also been to some uninspiring locations and produced some wonderful images that others had passed by. 

My current thought is that creating a great shot is like panning for gold.  There are always a few nuggets laying on the surface, but for the most part the gold is hidden beneath the surface and you must really work hard to get it.  So while beautiful locations have produced some great work for me (gold nuggets), the bulk of my images (gold dust) came about from hard work. 

I have noticed that great locations can be inspirational, but without vision I’m only likely to see the shots that everyone else has photographed before.  After all, when a gold nugget is large enough to be noticed, everyone else notices it too!  Think about how many similar images of Yosemite you have seen, that’s because gold nuggets are easy to see.

A short time ago I was in a creative slump and went on three trips.  At the start of each trip I really believed that the location would inspire me to create great images, but as each trip produced mediocre images I blamed it on the weather, the boring landscape or my lack of time.  Eventually I had to face the reality that it wasn’t the location, it was me.  My conclusion: I’d rather be inspired in a uninspiring location than to be uninspired in a inspiring place.

So how would I answer the question “Where do you find the ‘Great’ shots?”  I think you find them wherever you’re at and while location can help, it can never take the place of vision.

Cole

When people learn that my images are created digitally they often ask “do you manipulate your images?”  To which I enthusiastically answer “Yes!”

Everything I do starting with how I frame the image, expose and process it, is intended to manipulate that image into alignment with my vision.   Rarely, if ever, do I try to recreate what I saw with my eyes.  I believe that my vision is the difference between me being a photographer who documents and an artist who creates.  When I set up my camera at a scene, I already know what I want that image to look like and rarely does it resemble reality.

Some have suggested that “manipulation” is a “photographic sin” and I’ve heard others say that you shouldn’t do anything in Photoshop that you couldn’t do in the darkroom.   I find it odd that we should freeze our progress and limit ourselves to the technology of the 1990′s under some sense of arbitrary purity, why not freeze our techniques to that of the 1890′s?   My feeling is that art should be about the art, and not the process.

Many extol Ansel Adams as the master of photographic purity, and one that faithfully reproduced the scene with minimal manipulation.  Recently I saw a series of photographs that were taken from the very same spot where Ansel had taken his most famous Yosemite images, but with a point and shoot camera.  The images were striking because they so clearly revealed, in that side-by-side comparison, how much Adams manipulated his images.  In my opinion that’s why Ansel was an artist, because he didn’t simply document a scene but created images that matched his unique vision.  He was a master of “manipulation” and his work certainly did not represent reality.

Should photographers have any limits?  I don’t think so; does a painter have limits, or an actor or musician?  How would an art advance or a person grow if there was a list of things they could and couldn’t do? 

But individually, each one of us will set personal limits, I certainly do.  There are things that I just don’t do, not because I consider them wrong but because they do not fit within the vision and style of my work.  For example I choose not to “add” to an image such as adding a person or object, but there are others whose work is completely based on adding such as Dominic Rouse.  I love what Dominic does with his images and respect his work.

I don’t think there’s a right or wrong with art there shouldn’t be any do’s or don’ts.  Ignore the world and it’s experts, find your own vision and go wherever that takes you.

Do I manipulate my images?  You bet I do!

Some of you are familiar with my admittedly odd practice of not studying other photographer’s work.  It’s something I’ve been doing for about 2 years now and it’s always been met with curiosity, dismay and sometimes even a little hostility.   I mentioned it again in the last blog and it was suggested by my friend and fantastic b&w photographer, Lance Keimig, that this might be a good discussion topic.  I agreed and so here we are.

Let me explain why I began this unconventional practice and then I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.  However, this might be a very one-sided discussion as I’ve not met many people who agree or appreciate what I’m doing.   So if I’m the lone man on this issue, some of you might need to side with me just so we can have a two-way discussion!

To start with I’d like to point out that I’ve never suggested that others should adopt this practice, I’ve just described what I was doing.  However I recognize that when one writes publicly, your words can come across as advice.

Several years ago I came to the hard realization that I was not creating with my own vision, but rather I was copying the style and even the images of my revered childhood hero’s.  The full impact of this hit home when I was attending a Portfolio Review at the Center in Santa Fe.  One of the reviewers said that it appeared I was trying to copy Ansel Adams and Edward Weston’s style.  When I responded that I was, because I loved their work, he very bluntly pointed out that Ansel already did Ansel and that no one was going to it better than Ansel.  At the time those were very hard words to hear, but over the next year I came to agree with him and it started me on the quest to create with my own vision.

As I analyzed how I was working, I came to the conclusion that when I studied another photographer’s work, I was imprinting their style onto my conscious and subconscious mind.  And then when I photographed a scene, I found myself imitating their style rather than seeing it through my own vision.  To overcome this tendency I decided to stop looking at the work of other photographer’s, as much as was practically possible.

So for the last two years I’ve tried it; I’ve not read my B&W Magazines, poured over my LensWork or sought out great photography on the web.  It’s been hard, and at times I’ve felt like a celibate monk working at a nude beach!

Has it worked?  Yes, it has had a positive affect on my art and I feel that my images are increasingly “me” and not just copies of someone else’s work.  I’m making progress and when I think of my projects such as The Ghosts of Auschwitz, The Lone Man and the Harbinger series (new image above) I’m pleased with my “direction.”

I don’t expect to continue this practice forever.  Once I’ve  better developed my vision and have become more disciplined, I’ll return to enjoying black and white photography which has been my first love since the age of 14.

But for me, at this time, and for where I’m at creatively; photographic celibacy is helping!

Cole

P.S.  I’ve just had an experience that reinforces my position on this issue.  One of my images will be in a new book entitled “Why Photographs Work” by George Barr.  Last night we were given a link to review the images chosen and as I looked for mine I came across an image by Brian Kosoff that just stopped me dead in my tracks.  It’s entitled “Three Crosses” and it’s the first image on his home page.  Do you want to guess where my mind has been all day today as I drove around town?  I’ve been looking for telephone poles in patterns so that I can imitate his work!

Bad, bad Cole.

Did I lose something?

It was there before, but now it’s gone.

Where did it go?

Will it be back?

Two years ago I stood in the lobby of a hotel in Akron, Ohio and looked up.  I saw saw a ceiling lamp, but it was more than that, it appeared to me as abstract shape that inspired me to create my Ceiling Lamps portfolio. The image above was that first lamp.

Now fast forward; three weeks ago I was back in Akron and staying at that very same hotel.  Upon checking out I thought about that lamp and looked up.  The lamp was still there, but to my surprise I could no longer “see” it, it just looked like an ordinary lamp to me.  I thought to myself; I wonder why that lamp inspired me before?

That really kind of scared me, why didn’t it look special any more?  What had I lost and could I get it back?

And what if I were walking down the street today and passed “The Angel Gabriel,” would he inspire me to stop?  If I were to stumble across that “Old Car Interior” again, would it interest me enough to photograph it?

This experience reinforces two personal beliefs that I have: first to always stop because you may not “see” that inspiration later and second, you can keep going back to the same location over and over and over and still “see” something new.  Seeing a great image has more to do with our creative mood, than with the location.

I’ll be back in Akron next year and I’ll be very curious see how I’ll “see” this lamp!

Cole

This week I was speaking to a High School photography student about how the images I create, look nothing like the images I shot.  When I photograph something, I have a vision of what the final image will look like and I work to bring the captured image in line with that vision. My art does not try to faithfully reproduce what my eyes saw, but rather to recreate what I saw in my mind’s eye or my “vision.”

I characterize my creations as being composed of 50% the shot and 50% this vision.  Bringing the shot into line with my vision starts with the image capture, sometimes I’ll underexpose like with “Alphie” above, to set the mood I’m trying to create.  Transforming the image continues as I convert it to black & white, frequently using a lot of blue channel to give a contrasty and grainy look.

But most of my vision is introduced when I dodge and burn the image, working in Photoshop like I did in the darkroom, but with infinitely more control.  Using a pen and tablet I paint the image to darken it, selectively enhance contrast and to tease out the highlights exactly where I want them.  This step is where the “created” image can take a radical departure from the original shot.

Sometimes during processing I might see a new possibility or find a surprise in the image, but generally I know from the moment of capture what the finished image will look like.  I think this ability comes from having a personal vision, knowing your capabilities and the limitations of your tools.

Alphie was created about a week ago off the Santa Cruz pier.  It was early morning and the sea lions were just becoming active and lazily floating in the water; they seemed to be stretching and waking up.  I photographed them as they took on various poses and once I saw this image, I knew that I had what I was looking for.

But as you look at Alphie, remember that you’re really seeing him through the lens of my vision, and not the lens of my camera.

Cole

When I was younger, the ultimate compliment someone could give me would be to say: “Your images remind me of Ansel Adams’ work.”  He was my childhood hero and I would dream of being “the next Ansel Adams.”

But then one day it hit me; there already was an Ansel Adams and nobody would ever do Ansel better than Ansel.  And was that really the extent of my ambitions and the apogee of my dreams, to copy someone else’s work?  I suddenly realized that I needed to create work that was uniquely mine.

But how?  There isn’t a subject that hasn’t been photographed many times before, so how could I create unique work?

While it is true that most everything has been photographed, it has not been photographed through my eyes.  We each have a unique vision buried inside and we must learn how to bring it out and develop it.

I am certainly not there yet, but I recognize what I must do to reach my goal.  It is this desire to see things uniquely that has led me to the controversial practice of not looking at other photographer’s work.  When I see a tree, I do not want visions of another photographer’s work flashing about in my head so that my creation simply becomes an imitation or extension of their work.

If possible, I would like to see that tree as if for the very first time, like a blind person might see it after an operation gives them sight for the very first time.  Of course this is not completely possible, but I do try to keep my mind clear of other images as much as possible.

When I photographed people on the street of Ukraine, that certainly was not a unique idea, but I hope that having people close their eyes was a unique approach.  Photographing ceiling lamps was not an original idea either, but I hope the viewpoint was.

I believe that we each have the capacity to be original, that we each have a unique vision that can be developed.  For some, like myself, it was buried deep and I didn’t even know that it was there.  Others are lucky to have this talent lying near the surface.

Cole