The Meaning Of Life
Since I first became interested in photography, almost five years ago, I have gradually come to understand why some photos appeal to me and others hold no attraction, why some areas of the art captivate me and some I haven't even considered trying.
Initially I was drawn to landscape photography, impressed by the works of artists like Joe Cornish and John Sexton. A week-long field trip to Arran, off the coast of Scotland, reinforced this. I love being outdoors and it seemed like an extension of that feeling to capture the outdoors in photos. Gradually though I felt a nagging doubt, that for some reason I wasn't as satisfied with my images as I expected. Certainly some were very nice (I've got a few hanging on my wall) but they just didn't really grab me.
Then one day I noticed a book of Henri Cartier-Bresson's work and picked it up out of curiosity; I'd heard of him but didn't really know much. Right away the images grabbed me in a way that so few of my own had, but my understanding of just why had not yet developed, though this book certainly got me thinking. I began to explore other kinds of photography, like street and documentary.
It is in the past month or so that the penny finally dropped: the theme linking all the really appealing images together is life, more specifically human life. Most landscapes, even the really good ones, don't interest me because they have nothing to do with humans. I can now finally attach coherent thoughts to the vague feeling I've had since getting my first camera. Part of the reason for the realisation being so long overdue is personal: until fairly recently I was quite a shy person, somewhat introverted and not much interested in the affairs of others. Now, people fascinate me: what they're thinking, how they feel, what motivates them, what they enjoy… their lives, who they are. The other night I had a look through The Photo Book, noting the photos that caught my attention; the overwhelming majority were of the documentary genre (which includes ‘street’ and ‘war’).
It's worth noting that an image does not necessarily have to contain people to depict human life. The above photo of a dilapidated cottage on Arran interests me because it indirectly depicts life, you just have to use your imagination to see it. I don't mean the life is not real, rather that the image implies life that once was—it must be inferred from the clues it presents: tiles that don't match, worn grass around certain parts of the building, the location, the abandonment. All these things raise questions and fire the imagination, causing one to wonder at its place in the life of its owner (or owners).
Neither does a photo need to depict people explicitly in order to appeal. The one above shows only an indistinct, out of focus image of a woman with her back to the camera, yet still provides enough that we can wonder and pose questions. Similarly this image, by Indian photographer Arko Datta of Reuters and winner of World Press Photo of the year 2004, works because of its subtlety: the arm and hand is enough to convey what has happened, leaving us to concentrate on the mourning woman.
Of course many photos work well because they do contain people; it's almost guaranteed. But the strongest ones are those that provide some context and have meaning. The tsunami image linked above is powerful because it depicts an important, tragic event in world history: the 2004 Asian tsunami disaster. Ultimately this is the kind of photography I want to do; I feel it is one of the most worthy and meaningful uses of a camera. That's not to imply genres like street, landscape or wildlife photography are in any way less important, just that their worth is measured in a different, more complex way. Indeed, whole books have been written on the importance and meaning of photography as art in modern societies but for me it is the depiction of life, directly or implicitly, that appeals most.
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