Archive for category Practice
Earlier this year I was interviewed by Spanish scholar and colleague José Antonio Gabelas Barroso and Lara Bernard of the University of Zaragosa. Today Gabelas posted the Spanish version of the interview on Entremedios, the excellent website of his journalism program.
The following is the English version, with Gabelas’ questions in bold:
Your career moves from photojournalism to the narratives transmedia related to journalism. Why this change?
Photojournalism does not occur in isolation from other media forms. It is almost always paired with words whether they are written or spoken. It is often sewn into complex multimedia forms such as video and cinema. I have long watched the whole media ecosystem though my specialization was the documentary photograph.
As I started my graduate studies I encountered the concept of transmedia storytelling while reading Jenkins’ Convergence Culture. This was 2009 and my mind was already very attentive to how journalism might respond to the incredible disruption caused by the internet. In Jenkins’ discussion of transmedia storytelling, I saw a method through which journalism could cease to “broadcast” and begin to perform “bundled narrowcasting.” Rather than attempting to deliver the same journalistic stories to all of the public at once, journalists could assemble a collection of narrowly targeted stories. A story network would be additive for those members of the public who saw enough value in the subject to explore more of the stories in the network.
The profession of journalism has more problems to solve than in the structure of its storytelling. Business models must be reinvented, ethical standards reinforced, and greater transparency of process encouraged. But the storytelling model needs change too.
In your blog, you reflect on multiple occasions about transmedia journalism, what is it that attracts you to write about it? What role does the image play in this new informative model?
Transmedia storytelling in any industry is not readily apparent to the public. Marvel, for example, doesn’t overtly tell its publics that they are the recipients of a transmedia story when they engage with Thor in a comic book, a game and a film. In the U.S. we would describe this as being “inside baseball,” meaning only those who play the sport know what you are talking about. Despite its ubiquity, transmedia storytelling is still something of a secret magic.
Most journalists are still unfamiliar with the idea of transmedia storytelling. We are a bit religious about what we do, often taking our production patterns and techniques as sacred. We unnecessarily tie our ethics to our practices when we should be tying those ethics only to the informative outcome. I felt the blog would help journalists begin to rethink some of those practices.
The image is as central to a transmedia story as it is to a single-channel one. Humans learn holistically, assembling knowledge and information from multiple sources that complement or contradict each other. Each broad media form —language, image, interaction, object, music, odor, flavor — communicates in unique ways with distinct advantages. The photograph is particularly powerful for allowing us to stare at a frozen moment that would otherwise be invisible, to stare at a moment and consider its impact. Video is much better at developing a narrative arc, but it lacks that considering stare.
In the current visual ecosystem, what brings the nature and function of the image as the bearer of meanings and information? Castells (1997) differentiates between informed, over-informed and uninformed, what are those who “only have images”?, do you share this opinion?
The misinformed or uninformed have always existed, suffering from limited exposure to information or selectively absorbing only the information that confirms fears or prior beliefs. There is nothing distinct about the image that fuels this, though. One can remain mis- or uninformed through language as well. We are able to see only what we want to see when engaging in any media. A well-crafted image can communicate quite deeply, and poorly or nefariously crafted words can communicate quite shallowly or deceptively. All media forms benefit from the intellectual and emotional collaboration of other media forms.
The image, like music, communicates emotion very effectively. The most engaging photojournalism capitalizes on this advantage, allowing us to feel the story along with the subjects depicted. Language more often communicates intellectually, delivering context and nuance. Though both are capable of either mode, the best result comes with their combination.
Is language alone better than image alone? Perhaps that is a subjective question that depends on the preferred mode of reception by the receiver. I have known voracious readers who I have found to be misinformed by a lack of emotional understanding. I have known those who “only look at the pictures” to form their understanding, and they lack the context or nuance of a situation. One person would argue that the context is most important, and another would argue that the emotional is most significant. In the end the situation of true “only have images” doesn’t functionally exist. Those who may say they only look at the pictures receive context through language and other media forms from hundreds of other places. The digital age embodies Ong’s concept of secondary orality, doesn’t it?
You’ve worked for several international media. Your photographs have been many times as cover in The New York Times. What does a photograph require of a cover, and a cover to a photograph?
A cover image must be a compelling window into another world (as in Barthes). It must attract the eye with a quick and compelling story that will draw a reader into more photographs or to a written story, video, VR experience, or other. It is an icon, embodying a collective understanding of the story. That can be quite dangerous if the collective understanding is at odds with reality; therefore, a photojournalist and an editor must be very careful in their selection.
It has always been said that “we read images”, however, in this second decade of the 21st century, we experienced an immersion in the iconosphere. Can we continue to maintain the structures, criteria and functions of reading with the images?
The concept of “reading” images is a lingering apology from an early time when images were considered inferior to words as a means of communication. My father was also a photojournalist. When he began his career, a photograph was only to be used to illustrate a point made by a writer. In an effort to argue against this early-20th-century prejudice, photographers argued that we also “read” photographs in effort to elevate the image in the perception of logophiles.
However, we do not initially ingest a photograph element by element, scanning left to right or top to bottom. A photograph is observed as a unit first and understood emotionally before a viewer will then explore its constituent parts if so moved. As we do with a text, we ingest the image and compare it to our understanding of world contexts, our own life experiences, prejudices and belief systems. As you observe in (Lazo, Gabelas Barroso, & Covacho, 2013) we do not consume any media in isolation.
This relates well to your observation of the iconosphere through a particularly salient American example — Dorothea Lange’s “Migrant Mother” of 1936. I write about it in Transmedia Photography (Moloney, 2018, p. 175). The image is an icon of an era. As such it tells us more about who we are than who the subject was.
This always has been a problem for both the producers and viewers of images. We producers must consider not only what we see in the moments before our eyes, but also what the distant viewer is likely to bring to the image. The viewer — though it is unlikely — should be media literate enough to know that they see the image through an individual filter. Photojournalists and editors are easy to educate on this. Viewers are not.
What processes, factors and functions have changed between the subject-reader-viewer of images in the analogue era, and the interrelationships that take place in the digital age?
Though manipulation of photographs is as old as the photograph, we lived through a period of naïve trust in images in the analog age. It was assumed to be too difficult to lie through photographs, therefore, they could be trusted. This, of course, was far from true.
The digital age has made the malleability of the photograph more evident to the general public. Digital manipulations are now far easier, and that has exposed other ways of manipulating photographs while the subject is in front of the camera. This is both good and bad, of course. The good is that the public is less naïve. Media literacy has taken a step forward. The bad is that images that contradict a viewer’s beliefs are often suspected of being manipulated, even if they are not.
What role does the image play in the toxic atmosphere of lies and postruth, what responsibility do authors, publishers, citizens have? How can they recover credibility, journalism in general, and photojournalism in particular?
Though this is an assumption not based on any data, I presume that the ease of manipulation has increased the number of manipulated images intending to deceive the public.
Responsible citizens of a democracy would hopefully confirm what they see through the multiple sources of information available on any subject. This requires time and some effort, though. There is probably a study out there that has determined what a tiny percentage of viewers of images or other content on social media undertake that task.
One of the very few remaining advantages “professional” journalists have is the argument that they are more careful, that their internal ethical codes and best practices are designed to limit error or deception. To seize this advantage would require greater transparency of the journalism process. We must be less of a “black box” mysteriously making the daily sausage. We need our readers and viewers to see inside the complexity of our process. This may also limit the impact that negative events like Jason Blair at the New York Times and others have on journalism’s credibility.
More specifically to photojournalism, both photographers and editors must make a more concerted resistance to the temptation to make or select the most dramatic image in favor of the most informative image. Photographers want viewers to latch onto and share their images on social media. “Click bait” images draw more attention. But this compounds the problem of trust rather than mitigating it. Lange’s image mentioned above does this. It is early click bait.
Before, sensory perception and direct experience was the way to access to information and knowledge. An empirical and experimental knowledge. Today the Big Data offers another type of information and knowledge. How does it affect this change in the access and process of knowledge, both the design of the algorithms and their interpretation? The images should be labeled. If you don’t do it, you are not in Google (95% of traffic in the West); if you do it, you are at the service of the computer protocols and the patterns and profiles generated by the algorithms.
This is merely a new form of curation. In prior generations information was first curated or filtered by cultural norms, deemed acceptable by tribes, governments or religions. In the Modern era it was curated and filtered by an editorial class that controlled access to the information markets — publishers in a simpler term. Now this role is taken by algorithms controlled by entities like Google, Facebook, WhatsApp and others.
When I was young I learned how to appeal to publishers so my information would get through to the public. Now we must learn how to appeal to an algorithm. In many ways an algorithm is an easier opponent, both for reporters of journalistic information and creators of disinformation.
What do you think about the following statement deserves?
“I am interested in the holistic approach, interconnected, and in the interpretative scheme, in which web content developers, interactive content developers and “lineal-story-telling” television producers can really work together, and they can really create something that is completely new, completely different. (Interview made to Krotoski, 2012, September 20) In https://docplayer.es/84364801-Palabras-clave-periodismo-digital-comunicacion-transmedia-hibridacion-de-lenguajes-audiencias-activas-ecosistema-digital-narrativas-transmedia.html
This is a good description of how I see transmedia storytelling helping journalism. Their creation, though, won’t be a single new “thing” but a logic for how the media we create interacts to inform the public. Disinformation purveyors are excellent transmedia storytellers. Journalists should battle them on these terms, or we will lose.
The use of second screens attached to the gift of ubiquity and mobility (laptops, tablets, smartphones), is it producing a new ecosystem mutation affecting producers and audiences?
This requires more planning by producers, but that planning is often neglected. The advantage of this change is that the public can double-source information if they are motivated. That act should be enabled and encouraged. This is a problem, however, for traditional media producers who depend on captive audiences for advertising. Without captive audiences such as we had in the 20th century, advertising-funded business models suffer.
Before the content was the king, today is the strategy, which necessarily passes through the platforms and their social networks, which segment, distribute and share content. Do you think this has already contributed to the creation of new journalistic formats? New stories?
Strategy is certainly important, and this is one of the core elements of effective transmedia storytelling. However, no story — no matter how innovative the platform, the strategy or the implementation — will be successful without strong content. The most technically innovative game, most interactive multimedia site or app, the most labyrinthine transmedia story will fail if the story is bad.
In your thesis Porting Transmedia Storytelling to Journalism (2011), you conclude that the stories that most lend to the transmedia story are those that obey long-term investigative journalism. Can you explain the reasons?
I have since reached a more complex conclusion. Transmedia journalism stories might be designed from the start, and here a long-term investigative piece lends itself well to the form. These stories can be serialized across media over time, and the timing and order of the interaction of the public is not critical. They are not “breaking news.” However, breaking news can be seen as a feral form of transmedia storytelling. When a disaster strikes, or a political event unfolds, the readers will assemble and contextualize the story on their own, through multiple sources in print, online, on television, through conversations online and off… Journalists sometimes build their own stories based on the work of journalists in other media companies: reporting on, reacting to, or correcting information they do not originate. If we step back from the single media company — such as the New York Times — we see reporting on Trump’s latest bizarre action or statement across many channels. Some are repetitive, others are additive, and the public assembles them into the larger picture.
Investigative journalists would benefit from designing transmedia experiences for their publics, bundling together targeted narrowcasts aimed at specific audiences. Journalists feeding a daily news cycle are benefiting more and more from understanding how their work interacts across the mediascape.
The portrait is one of the photographic techniques that arouses more emotions, it is the possibility of the subject to look through the eyes of the otherness, of whom it photographs, but also to discover himself from a external position that allows a scrutiny more effective and specific. As a professional photographer who has made multiple portraits, what do you think the human being looks for in his own portrait? And in the portrait of others?
A portrait is a game of Telephone. Do you know this game? Maybe Juego de Telefono? One child tells a brief story quietly into the ear of another who then passes it to the next. Once the story is told to the last child in line he or she is asked to repeat it. It never matches the original, and it is always funny.
This game of Telephone is evident in Lange’s portrait: First, the subject, Florence Owens Thompson, is aware of the presence of the camera and is holding herself in a way she would like to be seen. This may have no bearing on who she actually is. Perhaps she is saying to the world, “I am a thoughtful mother, concerned about when my delayed husband will return.” Dorothea Lange then sits in front of her waiting for a gesture and expression that communicates what she wants to say about the situation or the person in front of her. This may be a search for the iconic as much as the informative. Lange is likely looking to tell a wide story about the circumstance of thousands of people, not just the story of the individual woman seated in front of her. This argument is supported by the fact that Lange never asked Thompson for her name. She was not “this mother,” but “all mothers.” Then, when we view the image more than 80 years later we not only see what is in the picture, but what is outside of it, in our contextual understanding of the time. It summarizes for us the economic and environmental devastation of the Great Depression and Dust Bowl in America. It is an icon, for better or for worse.
I have long felt that the portrait is the most dangerous photojournalism genre, even though it is the most common. When we view a portrait of another person we most often only see ourselves in it. There is too little information to “know” (conocer) the subject, so we imagine far too much about them. I think images of the subject in action, within the context of their lives, is more telling. Two contemporaneous images of mothers from Spain may illustrate this well:
David Seymour’s image is of a breast-feeding mother at a land distribution meeting in Estremadura also made in 1936, left, and Robert Capa’s image is of a mother watching an air battle over Barcelona in 1939. As with Lange’s image, both of the Spanish Civil War images show women beset by the circumstances of their time.
When we look for the first time at Lange’s image we imagine Thompson thoughtfully considering her own family’s plight and that of the nation during the Depression. We believe she is considering the same contexts we are when we view the image. However, she is most likely only thinking about the strange circumstance of being photographed. From the hidden faces of the two daughters we infer that the young girls are crying when they are more likely giggling. We only see the story we expect, not the very sparse facts that are in the photograph.
It is much easier to correctly interpret the images from Spain, however. In Seymour’s image we assume that the mother is concerned about her prospects for land to work and feed her family. Though we cannot be sure of this interpretation, the odds of it being correct are much greater. In Capa’s image we see a mother staring at an aerial battle and assume she is worried for her and her daughter’s safety. These two images invite us to consider the active moments the mothers are in. These moments represent well a specific time in Spain without obscuring the stories of the women in them. Lange’s image only invites us to consider the state of a whole nation and gives us too little about Thompson. Nonetheless most viewers of Lange’s portrait feel they know her.
Portraits we see of ourselves suffer different problems. Seeing ourselves in a photograph made by another photographer is much like hearing your recorded voice for the first time. As our voice does not sound like the one that resonates in our skulls, a photograph of us does not comport with how we imagine we look.
In the morning we get up, get dressed and stand in front of a mirror. When we pause to look at ourselves freshly coiffured and nattily dressed we freeze that self-image in our minds. We adjust posture, expression, stray hairs. Then we proceed through the day imagining that we still look like that. Then we see a photograph of how we really look and it shocks us.
This obsession to being reflected in a photograph is not a current phenomenon, it has been present throughout history, how and why has the technique of portraiture evolved?
I can only guess as to why the portrait is such a salient genre. There is likely a better historian of this to consult – perhaps John Berger? Barthes? I do guess that the reason is connected to our subliminal seeing of ourselves in images of others. We can view the person and form thousands of erroneous conclusions about who they are.
Our love of personally controlled portraits of ourselves is likely connected to our wish for immortality, perpetual youth and beauty, or perpetual potency. We want to freeze what we love about ourselves. We want to show others who we imagine ourselves to be, or who we wish we were.
The image has entered a new dimension through platforms such as Instagram, which seek not only to democratize photography, but this prioritize the ability to immortalize and document our lives, how much of all that approaches what for you is the photography?
This is not the first instance of the democratization of photography. In 1888 George Eastman disrupted professional photographers with the introduction of the Kodak, the first real amateur camera. In response, photographers had to improve their game to survive. They made content and art the most important aspects of their work where before it had simply been craft. Likewise, professional photographers now must become more careful and more interpretive. Now anyone can make a technically perfect image of very standard content and publish it to millions. Thus, the professional must improve his game.
Self-documentary has always been an effort of marketing more than true documentary. It appears most of us understand this and observe personal “stories” on social platforms as such: marketing.
This presents another problem though. If the images someone posts of himself and his family obscure the difficulties, tensions, ennui, then he might assume the images produced by professional documentarians are equally suspect.
Have social networks distorted image and photo concepts or maintained the same standards? Do we talk about a radical way of understanding the image or only of the modification of the communication channel?
Social networks have sped and scaled the distribution of true and unverified or false images, but so far I do not see that the image itself has fundamentally changed form or role.
History confirms that the image has been and is manipulated. Photographic editing programs facilitate this negligent practice that is used in depending on what contexts might alter political decisions and interventions, what control is exercised in the media to avoid this fraud? How can citizens be protected against possible manipulations from fraudulent information spaces or non-professional photographers?
Transparency is the key for professional journalists. Ethics codes, fact-checking practices, concepts of double-sourcing information, discussions of when and why a source remains anonymous, the process of image preparation and selection all should be available to the readers of any channel. This may be done through FAQ-like disclosures on a site where those processes are shown. On potentially controversial stories there could be notes about “Why we selected this image” associated with a story. Not all readers would believe this information, but over time it would go a long way toward improving public trust of professional journalists. Liars could, of course, lie about this too. Therefore, linking multiple external sources and journals in a story would facilitate public information verification.
Social networks have enabled the existence of a generation of youtubers, instagramers and influencers who have built around themselves, their image and their person, a media universe that project to their followers. His image is the main value that gives meaning and gives credibility to his words. We knew that the image was powerful, but why is this attraction by the image projected by an individual of himself so bestial?
Perhaps we model what we admire. As celebrities market themselves through social media by presenting fabricated images of beauty, success and satisfaction, we take up the same roles in marketing ourselves.
Most social media photographs are derivations. They repeat popular styles and genres. New photographers always begin by copying. It is a very long and strenuous trek to forming some originality in image making. Rather than an explosion of creativity and novel seeing in social media photographs I see an entrenchment of the cliché. Social media is likely more culturally homogenizing than the mass media of the 20th century was.
This can extend to why we market ourselves the way we do. We are copying the influencers.
Lazo, C. M., Gabelas Barroso, J. A., & Covacho, E. H. (2013). Phenomenological features of digital communication: interactivity, immersion and ubiquity. Sociedad de La Información, 25.
Moloney, K. (2018). Transmedia Photography. In R. R. Gambarato & M. Freeman (Eds.), Routledge Companion to Transmedia Studies. New York, N.Y.: Routledge.
After the basic facts are covered the interpretation must happen – the hunt for images that not only say, ‘Fidel was here,’ but those that convey why, and what this moment means.
“When Fidel dies I am dropping everything and getting on the next flight to Havana,” my friend and photojournalism colleague Phillippe Diederich proclaimed over several beers sometime around the turn of the millennium.
“¡Yo también, compay!” I slurred, punctuated with a fist pound on the bar table.
At least that’s how I remember beer- or rum-soaked conversations that repeated themselves several times over the next 5 years. We were steeped in Cuba then. The “Special Period” after the fall of the Soviet Union put much attention on what would happen in Havana and the hemisphere after El Comandante en Jefe Máximo expired. Phillippe was on and off the island, producing photo essays on its Harley riders, covering first papal visits for the New York Times and starting a novel which is set then and there.
I went four times over the next three years, the first to photograph Fidel’s speech on the 40th anniversary of his revolution. It was an incredible assignment to document a man who, with his band of barbudos, wedged a small island nation between two superpowers and had refused to leave, give up or die for decades. Fidel had been an unpredictable-turned-obdurate symbol of the Cold War.
Everything about that first trip was nostalgic for classic (or mythic) photojournalism. I was pulled aside in Cuban customs and interrogated for what seemed like an eternity about a small gift-wrapped package in my bag. “It’s a birthday gift for a colleague,” I explained. “You can open it if you like.”
“No no no. We won’t do that. So why are you here again?”
“I am here to photograph the anniversary speech in Santiago, for the New York Times.”
“Oh! The New York Times! So what’s in this box again? Who is your colleague again? Can we call her?”
“Yes. A gift. Feel free to open if it you like. It’s for the Tribune Company correspondent. Yes, you may call her. Would you like her number?”
This cycle repeated five or six times until they let me through, not accepting my offer to open the gift for them, and not calling my dear friend who was stationed in Havana. No money changed hands either. My oldest friend had come along, too, for sport and curiosity. He waited for me, puzzled, outside of customs.
On New Year’s Day, 1999, we climbed aboard a decaying Tupolev Tu-154 passenger jet flown by Cubana de Aviación. The creaking air conditioning steamed, the seat-back locks were broken in the reclined position. The toilets were locked shut, bleeding fecal aroma into the cabin. The hand-me-down Soviet plane was almost as old as Fidel’s revolution.
That night I stood among the crowd gathered in the central plaza below the same balcony where Fidel had greeted the masses 40 years earlier. El Jefe walked out fashionably late, waved, fist pounded and pontificated for several hours about el período especial and the imperialistas on the base across the bay.
I photographed for the first 30 minutes before I had to leave to develop color film in the hotel bathroom, scan and tone color images on a grayscale laptop and upload them at only 2400 bits per second over ancient Cuban phone lines to New York. Each image took almost a half hour to transfer, and I got two images through before the late edition deadline. I was beat in all the earlier editions by wire photographers using gigantic new digital cameras that cost as much as my whole bag of Leicas.
Standing in front of the world stage has always attracted young photojournalists. The importance or attention surrounding an event like this adds weight to every decision and frame you make. I photographed in inverted-pyramid style, making nut-graph images of Fidel waving and speaking from the podium, the rapt crowd and the excitement of the event. But that can take mere moments at a scripted event where little is likely to change. After the basic facts are covered the interpretation must happen – the hunt for images that not only say, ‘Fidel was here,’ but those that convey why, and what this moment means.
That’s when I saw his shadow. By 1999 the septuagenarian insurgent was a frail old man. He was gaunt and no longer intimidating. A strong gust of wind could have accomplished what the CIA had attempted for the entire 1960s. But his shadow, stretched a bit by the angle of light, was the Fidel of the Sierra Maestra, the man who had scolded the UN and kept American influence out for decades. That was the picture. A shadow of the Cold War.
For the next week my two best friends and I wandered Havana, soaking in its cigars, rum, anachronisms and relishing in the rusty, smoke-belching ghosts of American influence. The only contemporary sign of my country was the in the ‘gringo green’ bills that changed hands on an officially blessed special-period black market.
Once, Phillippe and I waxed fantastic about what it would have been like to bushwhack our way into the Sierra Maestra in 1958, find the revolutionaries and photograph their march onto the world stage. Fidel died yesterday, just as I and colleagues Chip Litherland and Rob Mattson — my former students — and Ross Taylor traded stories of our trips to Cuba. Today is the day that I swore I would be on the next plane to Havana. But I am not, and neither is Phillippe.
Since those effusive conversations years ago, Fidel has passed power to his brother who already has plans in place for his own retirement. The Obama administration pried open a diplomatic door that has a rusted lock. Cuba is now just a curiosity. What Phillippe and I imagined would be a historic change event will come and go in a set of lead-story obituaries and a little bit of news analysis. Tomorrow the media’s eye will be back to a power transition that’s more timely and arguably less predictable than Fidel’s. The obdurate symbol has left the balcony.
I’m proud to have a print in A Photo A Day’s (APAD) auction to fund their valuable “Backyard Storytelling” documentary photography grant.
Auction runs through September 19, 2016.
In an era when funding long-term personal projects is difficult at best, this fund provides for important work that would otherwise be skipped, cut short or denied the public traction it needs to inform the world. The $4,000 grant funds work within 350 miles (one tank of gas) of the photographer’s home. In past years the grant has received more than 150 entries from around the world, and winners produce insightful and genre-challenging work.
Click on the image above to bid on my personally-hard-printed archival silver print (that means darkroom, yep). It’s a limited edition of 25, matted and signed and ready for the wall. But there are many many interesting works to be had there, from a print of John Lennon by LIFE magazine photographer Bill Eppridge, to former student Chip Litherland, colleague Ross Taylor dozens of others.
Please bid on something today.
Henri Cartier-Bresson… Garry Winogrand… Helen Levitt… Robert Frank… André Kértész… William Klein… Jacques Henri Lartigue… Marc Riboud… Raymond Depardon… Elliot Erwitt… Joel Meyerowitz…
I started this list as I thought of who all the great street photographers might be. But I stopped early, realizing that in photojournalism (or any of its other pseudonyms) we all photograph life in the street.
Some of these photographers have made street photography the central aspect of their work, like Winogrand and Levitt. For others, like Frank and Klein, it is the piece of a complex work puzzle that made them most famous, or led to other opportunities.
It started when I was asked recently by student Danielle Alberti:
“The second you put the camera up to your eye, it seems strangers suddenly become very aware of you, and often suspicious. And because it’s in public, it’s rare that you’ll have enough time for them to relax. So we often find ourselves doing the subtle ‘lower the camera and hope autofocus works’ trick. Of course, when this trick works, I think it works well. But do you have any other street photography suggestions that might help when you want to photograph an interesting stranger without disturbing the scene (or pissing someone off)?”
This is a very common problem for young photographers (and old). We love how photographing someone pulls us into their world. But street photography can feel a bit more like an attack, or sniping. You’re often making images without explicit nor even tacit approval.
This is also the single hardest thing to which young students of photojournalism must adjust. Even those who have worked cameras for years grew up posing family or making live images of friends with whom they are comfortable. Then I come along and ask them to hunt. It’s an initially daunting task.
Many sense that the world has changed and the streets are meaner to a camera than in the past of Cartier-Bresson, Levitt and Evans. I do agree that there was perhaps a sweet spot, when cameras were familiar enough and photos not easily published in a way that the subject would feel harmed. There may be some truth in the idea that today, with the Web’s ubiquity and possibility, that any image can affect or harm you.
Maybe today, a camera can steal your soul more easily than before.
But I think this is only a partial truth. On any given street, in any time, you could find the camera-suspicious alongside the camera-nonchalant. The situation hasn’t changed that much. And official restriction on images has waxed and waned throughout photography’s two centuries.
So how did the greats act on the street?
Wait, watch, shoot. Cartier-Bresson was the cat. “Like an animal and a prey,” he said in The Decisive Moment, an educational program produced by the ICP and Scholastic in the 1970s. A nervous hunter, he scanned the world in front of him to anticipate the moment where something slight or something grand would unfold.
“That’s why it develops a great anxiety, this profession. because you’re always waiting… what’s going to happen? What what what what?
In photography you’ve got to be quick quick quick quick. Like an animal and a prey, braaam like this. You grasp it and you take it and people don’t notice that you’ve taken it.
I’m extremely impulsive. Terribly. It’s really a pain in the neck for my friends and family. I’m a bunch of nerves, but I take advantage of it in photography. I never think. I act. Quick.”
Cartier-Bresson was as subtle as he was quick, carrying one small camera and typically one small lens. He often saw a setting and waited patiently for a character or moment to complete the scene, making only a frame or two. “You shouldn’t overshoot,” he said. “It’s like overeating or overdrinking. You have to eat, you have to drink, but over is too much. Because by the time you press and arm the shutter once more, and maybe the picture was in between.”
Granted, now we have cameras that can make more than ten frames per second. How could you miss?
You miss by becoming a massive presence on the street. The big cameras that do that can be intimidating enough. But add to that the assaulting power of a motor advance ripping at you like a machine gun, and suddenly everyone feels attacked rather than honored by the image.
Indeed we may soon find that some of the most important street images are being made with ubiquitous and inoffensive cell phones.
If Cartier-Bresson was the cat slipping elegantly and unnoticed from portico to portico on the street, Garry Winogrand was the nervous, fast-walking, bemused, gleeful, grunting American bear rumbling down the sidewalk.
His approach was as different from the French style as his images were. He waded into the stream of street traffic and deftly snatched salmon from the upstream flow.
Joel Meyerowitz described working the streets with Winogrand in Bystander: A History of Street Photography:
“Yeah. Oh yeah. You know, he set a tempo on the street so strong that it was impossible not to follow it. It was like jazz. You just had to get in the same groove. When we were out together, I wasn’t watching him — we were both watching the action around us — but I did pick up on his way of working and shooting. You could see what it was in his pictures. They were so highly charged, all you had to do was look at them and you began to assume the physical manner necessary to make pictures. They showed you right away that they were an unhesitating response.
Walking the streets with Garry gave me clues to being ready, to just making sure that I was. I had been a third baseman, so being ready came naturally. I was a quick study on that stuff, darting and twisting and the kinds of moves that were necessary to get a picture.
You know, if you hesitate, forget it. You don’t have but a fraction of a fraction of a second. So you have to learn to unleash that. It was like having a hair trigger. Sometimes walking down the street, wanting to make a picture, I would be so anticipatory, so anxious, that I would just have to fire the camera, to let fly a picture, in order to release the energy, so that I could recock it. That’s what you got from Garry. It came off him in waves — to be keyed up, eager, excited for pictures in that way.”
Winogrand was so keyed up about making photographs that he is said to have left behind 2,500 rolls of undeveloped film and 300,000 unedited images at his death in 1984.
With those numbers you might have expected him to have loved the motor drive. But he used the same little rangefinder cameras as Cartier-Bresson, Robert Frank and others. He was just a relentless hunter.
He also moved quickly, pushing his Tri-X film to ISO 1200 and higher so he could shoot a 1,000th of a second shutter speed at f/16 and never miss a moment from blur or focus. He did this through much wider angle lenses than Cartier-Bresson. He marched down the street, straight toward his subjects and whipped up the camera the moment he or they passed. It was like a surprise punch. He wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t look and wouldn’t engage. He simply marched on with a bemused smile.
Of course, in my classes he would also be forced to engage with subjects in ways he didn’t. I require IDs and full captions to build reporting skills and skills of engagement with subjects. The game changes when you must shoot at, then talk to, a subject.
Winogrand’s work is amazing, visceral and live. But it did not need the journalist’s caption. “I don’t have anything to say in any picture. My only interest in photography is to see what something looks like as a photograph. I have no preconceptions.”
Helen Levitt, who died only last year at 95, had an eye for busy streets. Though the famously private Levitt said little about her working methods, she did tell New York Times photo critic Sarah Boxer in various interviews, “You’re talking about the past, honey. I’ve been shooting a long time.”
When asked if she followed people to photograph them, the nonagenarian said, I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t remember following anybody.”
“I go where there’s a lot of activity. Children used to be outside. Now the streets are empty. People are indoors looking at television or something.
The streets were crowded with all kinds of things going on, not just children. Everything was going on in the street in the summertime. They didn’t have air-conditioning. Everybody was out on the stoops, sitting outside, on chairs.
In the garment district there are trucks, people running out on the streets and having lunch outside.”
Was she disarming? Maria Morris Hambourg, curator of photographs at the Metropolitan Museum of Art tells NPR’s Melissa Block, “She’s very quiet. She’s like a cat — very slight. She moves softly. There’s no imposition of a mood or a tone or a need. If the picture didn’t present itself she would not have ever forced it.”
But Levitt did admit to Block that she used a right-angle lens from time to time, deceiving people around her about where her camera was aimed.
Perhaps Helen Levitt simply made a natural act of photographing on the street, analyzing not the act but the result.
So how do you roll, then, looking for Cartier-Bresson’s complex fleeting moments, Winogrand’s sanguine street document, Frank’s dark beat poem or Levitt’s sensitive and charmed glance?
Body language is everything. We have a choice of being quick like Cartier-Bresson, elusive like Winogrand, or disarming like Levitt.
Carry yourself with sincerity no matter what method you might choose. If you appear to have the right to be there with a camera, passers-by will assume you do. If you relax, appear to be having fun and mean no harm, you might be more easily tolerated.
Let your intent for photographing appear on your face. If you are charmed by someone’s antics, smile as you photograph. If moral outrage shared with a subject drives you, carry yourself with concern and sincerity.
Never appear critical, unless you are as big as Garry, as surly as Weegee or as fleet as Henri.
When caught, engage. Walk up with a charmed smile and explain who you are and why you’re photographing.
Be ready to share. Offer images to your subjects and they will feel less like they’ve been exploited. Give them your e-mail address. Don’t ask for theirs.
Expect the protective concern of parents. Children are one of the most fun of street subjects because they live their young lives with little restraint or self- consciousness. But thanks to the creeps out there, they may fear for their child’s present and future safety when someone makes a picture.
Photograph those kids just the same, if possible without affecting the scene by asking first. But as you do, glance around for parents, and if found, make eye contact as soon as possible with a nod and a smile. As soon as you can, introduce yourself and offer a business card and copies of the pictures. Proud parents will love the images and trust more the person who is unafraid to say hello.
If there are no parents apparent, ask the children where they might be and find them. If unfound, give the child a card, because Johnny or Mary will surely talk about “that nice bearded photographer with the sunglasses who took pictures of me in the park.” You’re asking for calls to the police if they don’t know who you might be.
But there is no specific recipe for success. You will surely find fun, pleasant and trustworthy people who feel honored by your attention. And even the most bright-faced young photographer with the biggest smile will encounter people accusing her of being a freak, a creep or a terrorist.
Get your street legs by photographing public events. People are not surprised by being photographed for no apparent reason at a parade, festival or event. Then take your confidence out to the everyday world.
Though you have a right to photograph on the street in the U.S. and most places, when you encounter resistance, apologize and walk away with a smile. You’ll never convince them of your rights anymore than they will convince you with their indignation.
Make those images. Explore the visions and moments of the street and leave a document of the 21st century as valuable as the one our predecessors left of the 20th.
…Michael Ackerman… William Albert Allard… David Alan Harvey… Werner Bischof… David “Chim” Seymour… Weegee… Edouard Boubat… Willy Ronis… Bruce Davidson… Jodi Cobb… Walker Evans… Josef Koudelka… Ben Shahn… Martine Francke… Roy DeCarava… Miguel Rio Branco… Leonard Freed… Antonin Kratochvil… Manuel Alvarez Bravo… Dorothea Lange… Marion Post Wolcott… Dan Weiner… Wayne Miller… Diane Arbus… Graciela Iturbide… Danny Lyon… Berenice Abbott… Martin Parr… Eugene Richards… Larry Towell… Alex Webb… Sylvia Plachy… Lee Friedlander…
Others have written at length on this subject and their work is a valuable resource. For further reading have a look at:
Bystander: A History of Street Photography, by Colin Westerbeck and Joel Meyerowitz
Thames and Hudson, London, 1994
This is a sermon, so feel free to mutter an occasional amen or shout a hallelujah. And like any congregation of believers, you probably already know some of the things I’m going to say. But we are here to reinvigorate our faith, so please be seated while I take the pulpit, thump the mic and clear my throat.
You are living in the best time in history to be a photojournalist.
It may not seem like it considering the ever-present industry bad news. (Yeah, I just heard you mutter, “this guy is nuts.”) Old media is in trouble. New media is thrashing around for an economic model for news. Dayrates have been stagnant for a decade. Rights are being grabbed. Amateurs with cell phones are covering breaking news. Journalism jobs are going away. And this week Eastman Kodak slid closer to bankruptcy. But Horace Greeley, a 19th-century journalist and inveterate forward thinker once wrote, “The illusion that times that were are better than those that are, has probably pervaded all ages.”
So what makes now so great?
To start, you have an enormous array of tool choices. For a recent New York Times shoot I eagerly packed in my bag a vintage-1948 press camera, a medium-format TLR and a DSLR. I used all three on the shoot, swapping sheet-film holders, cranking 120 through a Rolleiflex and twitching images through the pixel array of the little high-tech wonder alongside them.
We are now deep enough into the digital age that the quality of that equipment has reached heights we could have only imagined a few years ago. And with the recent and expected announcements of new gear from the big digital players, we are in for astounding advancements this year.
But we also have the entire world of film cameras to use, with all those delicious differences in look, point of view, depth of field and other things that make various cameras see the world differently. As Kevin Kelly, author of the book What Technology Wants, recently told NPR,“I say there is no species of technology that have ever gone globally extinct on this planet.” Today we can still use pretty much all of the photographic technology ever invented.
Yes, you can buy color transparency films in 620 and 127 sizes (hand-cut and rolled by a few dedicated souls) and new single-use, screw-base flash bulbs (from Ireland), if you’re willing to pay the price. Online you can buy kits to make cyanotypes, argyrotypes and kallitypes. You can buy the chemicals to mix any developer formula concocted or to embrace the silvery glow of a daguerreotype. “Everything that we have made in the past,” said Kelly, “is still being made somewhere in the world today.” And it is available to us thanks to the reach of the very same Internet that has upended our old business models.
In some areas there is even expansion. More black and white films are available now than there were in 1990. With their manufacturers out from under iron curtains or no longer forced to compete for shelf space with the big three film makers, more than a dozen brands of monochrome film are readily available. Some have been made in Eastern and Central Europe for decades.
My favorite leisure camera of the moment is a folding Kodak/Nagel Vollenda 48 from the 1930s. It takes 127 film (thank you, Croatia) and gives everything at which it is aimed the feel of the decade in which the camera was made. It took the place of a digital point-and-shoot in my pocket. I love all of that variety. Sure, about all of it can be modeled with good digital technique, but art is in the process, not just the product.
And the latest round of digital technology has brought us fantastic ISO capability that will probably reach a usable six digits before we can say “existing light in a coal mine.” We now have rich color even on the extremes of exposure and more dynamic range than I could have dreamed a decade ago. Remember all those color correction filters we used to have to carry around just to get accurate color? Now they’re a button and knob on the camera or two sliders in your raw conversion software. Soon enough we may see professional light-field cameras that allow focus correction in post-production.
In an advancement that would make filmmaker/photographers like Robert Frank, William Klein, Raymond Depardon and Tim Hetherington jealous, we now have HD video available in our camera bodies with a sensor twice the size of high-end cinema film. The once high cost of entry into documentary film production has just dropped faster than one of Herman Cain‘s shoes.
The learning curve has become impossibly short as we can experiment furiously and see the result immediately. The digital age also means unprecedented speed of delivery. In the decade some have called the heyday of photojournalism — the 1980s — to get an image from a revolution in Iran meant sweet-talking a diplomat or a traveler into carrying your film on a flight from Tehran to Paris or New York. It was days from event to publication. Now with a satellite phone and a tablet computer a photojournalist can publish from Libya a split second after the image is made.
Combine the incredible power of digital photography with the variety of analog and you can do anything.
But what about that business model? Indeed the methods we’ve used for a century to make a living seem to be going away. They’re not dead yet, though, and that gives us time to transition and reinvent how photojournalists live on their good work. Almost a century ago a few business-minded photographers and a few German magazine editors created the freelance model we’ve used so far. They created that out of a vacuum that we don’t face.
Pieces of the solution for an economic puzzle are popping up all the time. In my 25-year career I’ve spent haystacks of money chasing personal projects that at best have returned break-even cash. We are driven to document whether we have a patron or not, and in the past that was just one of the costs of doing business. But now thanks to the Internet-made idea of crowdfunding a good project can have hundreds of patrons who may not only cover the cost of field production but also provide a little financial breathing room. Pay close attention to Emphas.is, Kisckstarter and IndieGoGo to see where that leads. Watch how photographers, agencies and collectives like LUCEO Images repurpose work for alternative venues and media, and then both make money and market themselves in the process. Frankly, you have it much easier than Jacob Riis did.
Keep your eyes on other media for answers as well. For example the music industry is in the grips of an economic chaos that looks remarkably like what the news media has been facing — loss of markets, lack of control over the means of distribution, ease of amateur production and distribution, and the free and open spreading of their product. Out of that, musician and entrepreneur Trent Reznor has figured out how to make piles of money from giving away most of his music. It’s the Nine-Inch Nail meets the Long Tail.
Like for Reznor, the Internet’s reach is a valuable tool for photographers to sell their work. Once forced to use agents and portfolio reps to market themselves, we now have — for better and for worse — the unfiltered channel of the Internet to find new buyers, collectors and clients. It is a crowded market out there to be sure. Everyone wields a camera, thinks they are brilliant and shares their images for free with everyone. But competition forces us to think harder, work harder and be better image makers to rise above all that noise. And this is not a new phenomenon.
When in 1888 George Eastman put the first point-and-shoot camera into the hands of the public, professional photographers across the land surely panicked about the loss of their businesses. But that and its cheap offspring, the Brownie camera, helped launch a century of stunning photography. Why should we be afraid of all the dilettantes? As photo blogger Jörg Colberg aptly put it, “Isn’t it funny that you never hear writers worry about the fact that everybody knows how to write?”
So here’s the most important fact to remember: Rather than killing the professional photographer, early 20th-century advancements allowed professionals to reinvent the art itself. In 1914 Oskar Barnack put some cine film in a new little camera he crafted in his workshop and the age of 35mm photography was born. Innovators like Kertész, Cartier-Bresson, Capa and Eisenstaedt were more than great photographers. They were revolutionaries who picked up surprising new “amateur” equipment, filled it with fast new films and revolutionized the way we see the world.
This is that moment all over again, where new and innovative technology in brilliant hands will change the paradigm. Like me you’ve daydreamed about shooting alongside the likes of those guys in the last paragraph and helping to redefine what photojournalism would be for a century. But this is your time, and you have the opportunity to upend everything just like they did.
Seize it. Foment revolution. Change the history of our art and our profession.
This is one of those terms you’ve heard before, but might not have ever gotten to fully understand. It is what it sounds like — thoughts out of tune. More particularly, it is the feeling we get when our thoughts, beliefs and morals clash with our actions. It’s that uncomfortable feeling we have after we buy something we really couldn’t afford, or do something we know we shouldn’t do.
As adaptable beings we dispatch that feeling with justifications. “I really need that new [insert toy name here] even though I ain’t got the cash, and here’s why…” Aesop had a good fable that fit this too. A fox sees some grapes hanging too high to reach. After trying to get them and failing, he struts off arguing to himself that they must not have been worth eating. It’s where the old “sour grapes” saying comes from. We are also prone to justify away the dissonance we would otherwise feel when we take a shortcut we know we should not take.
In journalism justifications like that pop up frequently to argue why something considered unethical should be seen as okay “under the circumstances.” You’ve heard them: “magazines are different from newspapers” or “the cover is an advertisement” to explain away a breach of journalism ethics. Our ethics should determine our actions, of course. But there seems to be an unending stream of ways journalists justify letting their actions determine their ethics. Neither market forces, ease nor style should trump ethics in the images we produce or how we use them. If we act like we are delivering truthful information, then we must follow through on that promise.
It happens among photojournalists more often than we might think. We pay a lot of attention to the egregious breaches of our ethics: major alterations, serious cases of reenactment or direction of what would appear to be a spontaneous moment. But as professionals who document reality we need to stay aware of how we might let convenience, competition, drive for a style or a wish for the approval of an editor or producer affect our work. This can come down to many of the mundane tasks we perform in our work, including — to pick only one example — things like toning an image.
There’s a difference between choosing a moment of perfect light and color that actually existed and fixing dull light to make it more dramatic in a photo. We like dramatic images. They attract reader interest, appeal to editors and feel satisfying to us. But isn’t the satisfaction and pride much stronger when we took the time and energy to seek out the light and color rather than pumping it up with software tools? And isn’t it simply more honest?
Our talent — the one that separates us from all the other flavors of photographer — is that we capture reality quickly and delicately and without influence. It is an incredible skill that takes great attention and effort to develop. We take pride in our ability to think and act quickly and to know the story as we are seeing it happen. We slice telling moments out of the unstoppable flow of time, and when we miss, we miss.
Photography, Henri Cartier-Bresson said, is “…an immediate sketch, done with intuition, and you can’t correct it. If you have to correct it, it’s the next picture. Life is very fluid, and, well, sometimes the picture has disappeared and there’s nothing you can do. You can’t tell the person, ‘oh, please smile again, do that gesture again.’ Life is once, forever.”
Having made all that effort to catch the decisive moment without any before- or after-the-fact fixing, why would we let any overrated sense of market pressure discredit that work? Look again at Cartier-Bresson’s images in which the moment and geometry are so perfect that trivial stylistics like color and contrast don’t matter at all.
I am not making an excuse to shroud dull images in a cloak of ethics. Our challenge is to find the impressive image in any circumstance — no matter how colorless or flat in light — without needing to embellish it after the fact. We do that by skillfully getting to the right place at the right time to capture true storytelling images and minimizing our influence on a scene.
If any of our actions need a justification to exempt them from our core ethical standards, then those actions need to be reconsidered. It is our ethics that must determine our actions, not the converse.
For an entertaining and disturbing look at cognitive dissonance at work in the cable TV world, have a listen to radio producer Rebecca Hertz’ piece on how process trumped ethics in the production of a reality TV show, for NPR’s Snap Judgement. In the show segment she compares the experience of the producers and participants to the Stanford Prison Experiment of the 1970s.
This is a cross-post with my additional new blog “Transmedia Journalism.” There I’ll be describing my research of the last year and continuing to flesh out the ideas behind it. Here’s what it’s about:
If you are here, reading this, you know that journalism is having some trouble. Not only is the economic model that used to pay for it sinking fast, but journalists are having a harder time reaching the public with their work in a very diverse and dispersed mediascape. This new blog and my ongoing research is mostly about the latter problem, though all of journalism’s woes are inextricably linked. Rather than waiting for the public to come to us for the news, we need to send our work down every conceivable avenue to find the public — new publics too — and win their engagement and loyalty. We need to improve the way we tell stories.
That is where the title of this new blog comes in. “Transmedia” is one of the top buzzwords of the past two years in the entertainment and advertising industries. It is proving to be extremely effective in reaching and engaging the public in those two realms, and there is much about it that we can put to use in telling the informative and factual stories journalists want to tell. Hollywood and Madison Avenue are using transmedia techniques to win more fans and engage them more deeply. That’s something we should want too.
Transmedia storytelling is not just convergence or multimedia by a new name. It’s also not an entity solely of the digital age. The Web is an excellent tool for much of it, but a transmedia story doesn’t unfold there or in any other single medium alone. It can, however, use any aspect of any media from the cave painting to the latest killer app.
Transmedia storytelling and the transmedia journalism I propose tells stories across an array of media — analog, digital and even brick-and-mortar — in an expansive rather than repetitive way. That would mean telling a complex story not only across the usual print, Web and broadcast media, but possibly through books, games, immersive experiences, graphic nonfiction (comics), gallery walls, museum installations, public lectures, public interaction and authorship, or any other medium appropriate to the story. It also means not simply re-editing a story for repetition among those media.
In entertainment it looks (briefly) like this:
Star Wars did it largely by accident. Starting with one film in 1977, the story proved so compelling and engaging that it exploded across the mediascape from films to comics, books, games, toys, fan fiction and video, and any other medium you can think of. Inspired by this, creators of The Matrix franchise in the late 90s designed a similar experience from the start, planning how their story would unfold not only on the screen, but continue through all those other media and more. Since the Matrix tale began more than a decade ago, other entertainment franchises, like the hugely successful Lost TV series, have successfully used transmedia storytelling design to rivet fans and put them to work finding, sharing and shaping stories.
As the new blog unfurls I will describe what transmedia storytelling is, where it comes from and how we can use it within the goals and ethics of journalism. It will come in both appetizer- and entree-sized chunks, but if you’re a big eater you can download the full academic paper. You’ll also see links there to all the pieces of important context and background on transmedia storytelling and transmedia journalism as they are published. Subscribe to the feed or the related tweets to know when there’s something new.
That blog will also be a hub for my ongoing research on the subject, and a place to air my and your related discoveries about it. Post links to interesting examples of transmedia stories from any industry, and send observations and suggestions my way. I’d love to hear them. And what does it have to do with photojournalism? I believe we visual reporters are very used to the idea of telling stories by alternative means.
This post is the barest scratch of the surface of what will come. Look ahead for deeper explanations of what transmedia storytelling looks like in the entertainment media — with many linked examples — places where journalism has gone before, and what transmedia journalism might look like — also with many linked examples. To start a deeper exploration go to the Contexts page there, and stay tuned to it is as the background and examples are posted.
The journalism profession is not short on experimentation with new ideas, new technologies and new storytelling methods. But they seem more like attempts to keep the publics they used to have than to find and engage new ones. I believe by adopting the techniques of transmedia storytelling, we can reach out to new readers, viewers, listeners and interactors in the media spaces where they already are, and engage them more deeply in complex real-world stories. It could certainly be easier than reviving our old model of expecting them to come to us.
Why does photojournalism addict us and make us want so badly to do this even though there are better ways to make more money?
The answer struck me when reading this recent book by Jane McGonigal. In Reality is Broken she describes the four defining traits that make a game a game. They are a goal, rules, a feedback system and voluntary participation.
McGonigal’s book is about far more than this (see her TED talk here), but reading that fired the Sylvania Press 50 flash bulb over my head. These qualities of a game engage us, tug us along in pursuit of the goal, challenge us to do it within the rules and then reward us when we’re done. That is all exactly what photojournalism has done for me (artistic expression and “doing good works” aside).
So what is our goal? We work to make an image that tells a story. That’s the simple goal. We could also extrapolate that to other grand journalistic goals like informing a democracy or bringing positive change to the world.
The rules? This is where I think photojournalism differs from any other kind of photography: We must do this within the ethical boundaries and best practices of our profession. We make images of reality unfolding — no alterations before or after the image is captured. The story must be grounded in facts (or truth, whichever term you prefer) and not deceive the reader. We also work to not misrepresent the subject. Their story must be told truthfully, no matter how flattering or unflattering that ends up being. That’s a pretty tight set of rules.
Feedback? We grasp our progress through a variety of means. First, we see the images we make and feel satisfied or dissatisfied with our performance. The digital age has sped this up enormously as we now see the result seconds later with a quick “chimp” of the image on the camera’s screen. Feedback increases when our editors use our images, our readers respond to them and awards judges honor them. The progression from shooting to Pulitzer medal tugs us ever forward.
We do all this voluntarily, as there are better ways to make more money, and more secure — even safer — professions available to us.
McGonigal also argues that the games make us happier. When we are fully engaged with a video game in particular we are inspired to play at the very top of our skill level. That can happen with a simpler game too, but video games are designed to keep pushing us further to better performance. When we reach that point we achieve what she and other researchers describe as “flow.” This term was coined by psychologist Mihály Csíkszentmihályi (cq that in a caption…) who described it in a book by the same title as, “the satisfying, exhilarating feeling of creative accomplishment and heightened functioning.” In a Wired interview, Csíkszentmihályi described flow as “being completely involved in an activity for its own sake. The ego falls away. Time flies. Every action, movement, and thought follows inevitably from the previous one, like playing jazz. Your whole being is involved, and you’re using your skills to the utmost.”
I’ve been there as a photojournalist, when a fleeting moment magically erupts perfectly in front of me and I get it in a split second, when the subtleties of a story are unfolding for my camera, when I hit the focus on a sudden game-ending double play. I get it mostly when I am feeling happily challenged, or when I am reporting a story that may ripple through society. I feel it when I am working on the very edge of my skill level. And that, McGonigal says, is what a good game inspires you to do.
Also like the play in many well-designed modern video games where moral complexity is one of the features of the game, our work has nuance. Part of what drives us is that sense of social concern and the deep involvement with moral implications of our work. In order to advance and earn the feedback of the powerful image or the holy-grail “social change,” we must maneuver through thickets of complexity. Some might “score” most easily by being aggressive shooters, marching into a sensitive scene with cameras blazing. I’ve seen this more often than I like — a camera shooter inches from the nose of the bereaved victim scoring points with the illusion of intimacy. But the vast majority of us know that sincere intimacy ultimately wins for all involved. To earn those images we tread delicately and wisely, and earn our access to the story.
McGonigal argues that reality needs to be restructured to be more “gameful” and to keep us in a state of flow in places where we often are not — like when solving social or environmental ills or even while at work. I argue that photojournalism is one of the possibly few professions (bond trader might be another) where there are inherent gameful conditions that inspire flow. But perhaps we work in something more like a board game, where it is as much up to us to keep our flow as it is to the design of the game.
How do we do that? It’s probably different circumstances for each of us. And the lack of flow or engagement might be what we’ve long called “a slump.” I’ve had great editors who can inspire flow by encouraging the thinking and analysis that leads to great work. I’ve also had terrible editors who can crush flow in a single sentence. McGonigal writes at length at how game-world ideas can work in reality to inspire flow and the happiness and productivity it can bring. But one of the keys comes from another simple definition by philosopher Bernard Suits who said, “Playing a game is the voluntary attempt to overcome unnecessary obstacles.”
His point was that a game is about the rules and obstacles. Though it would be simplest to pick up the golf ball and carry it down the fairway to drop it in the hole, that game is less fun and ends too quickly. It’s a walk in a park with a lame purpose. Golf works because of its difficult unnecessary obstacles. In photojournalism we have a host of obstacles most of us would declare very necessary. But some are not.
A classic example of unnecessary obstacles was Jim Brandenburg’s Chased by the Light project where he made only one frame a day for 90 days. Few of us can imagine the self-inflicted pressure of deciding when in that 24-hour period to make a single shutter click. Is the exposure right? Is it in focus? Is this that moment? And yet most, if not all, of those single images are better than the portfolio work of the rest of the working nature photographers out there.
Technology has removed many of the obstacles that prior generations faced — making sports pictures with a press camera or twin-lens reflex for example. Making a usable image has never been easier. That’s great for me when the obstacles to getting the story-telling image come from the story itself. When photographing an emotionally intense scene, an unfolding crime, a fast-action sport or when needing to be stealthy fast, I appreciate equipment that is as invisible to me as possible. I have flow from the story already and don’t want the obstacles of difficult gear.
But not all stories are like that. When I am photographing something that doesn’t require those easy-to-use modern cameras, I find myself wishing I were making that image with my infinitely slower, much more obstacle-rich old press camera or my beloved Rolleiflex with its 12-shot roll, backward screen image and strange viewing angle. When the story is too easy, I crave mechanical obstacles. I want to feel like I am playing at the top of my skills.
The better way, most certainly, would be to find how that story can go farther, how I can go deeper into it and work at the top of my mental skills without the artificial obstacles of a leaf shutter or sheet film. But often for me, happiness comes from having the very unnecessary obstacles of quirky old gear, or the circumstantial obstacle of a foreign language, or artificial limit of one camera and one prime lens.
There is a great risk of semantic misunderstanding by describing our profession as gameful, to use McGonigal’s term. I would be cautious to describe it as a game because of how we too often see games as meaningless pursuits and time not productively spent. Photojournalism is a serious profession that enters the lives of people at both their best and their worst moments. To imagine a journalist as out to score points is both inaccurate and offensive. McGonigal does not argue we should make reality less serious. She argues that we should take what makes games work so well and apply that to reality.
Though photojournalism is not a game in terms of what that label may imply, it is certainly gameful. Perhaps that’s why we love it so much. And understanding those gameful characteristics may be a valuable way to keep ourselves engaged with our profession, out of slumps and working at the top of our skills.
Yesterday the final decision was made to close the School of Journalism and Mass Communication that is not only my part-time employer, but my alma mater. My father also taught photojournalism part time at this school and graduated from its predecessor College of Journalism at the University of Colorado. The old school will be replaced by a double degree in journalism and another discipline at the university, and details of how that will work remain vague.
Though I and many of my colleagues wish a purposeful change of how journalism is taught at CU would have unfolded differently from this, the decision begs an examination of what it means to have a journalism education. This may still be well served by CU’s plan, depending on how it unfolds. I am hopeful.
I would not teach at a journalism school if I did not value them. For more than a century they have been the training grounds of generations of the world’s witnesses (like all things for better and for worse), homes of the research that help us understand communications’ flows and the social life of information, and builders of confidence in an important profession.
However today not even the working profession of journalism — where reaction to the needs of the market and the social distribution of information is life or death — knows where it is going. Expecting the ivory tower to keep pace where the profession cannot is extreme. Regardless, I and my colleagues, though looking at it from different angles, have not shrunk from that challenge.
Professional journalism will always have skills that need to be learned, philosophies and standards that need to be debated. But in the end it is a profession of experience. Storytellers learn their craft by telling stories. Though my own education at CU inspired me to do the work of learning journalism, almost all I learned about journalism came from watching journalists at work when I was young and from doing the job myself. Journalism schools exist to plant the seeds of what needs to be really learned in real-world practice.
In the two centuries prior to the creation of journalism schools, the art, craft and professionalism of the time was learned through apprenticeship and experience. That will always be available where there is no school to set the stage. A true university education is about ideas rather than practice. It is about learning to think as the acting generally comes later.
Find your mentors in schools and out. And tell story after story.
This year in the World Press Photo Awards an honorable mention was awarded to Michael Wolf, a prior World Press award-winner from Germany. Wolf’s entry this year was for a series of photographs made of the screen of his computer as he explored Google’s Street View, a service in which automated cameras mounted on vehicles trawl the world to present the street in virtual space.
The debate over the award (as is often the case with World Press Photo) is interesting to read.
The criticisms ring with complaints that they are not his pictures, that it wasn’t him standing there slicing those moments from time, that he’s not out in the world struggling with the rest of us.
These criticisms are a bit navel-gazing in that they are mostly about how we define ourselves as photojournalists, not in how we define what photojournalism does. The boys at dvafoto have an excellent post on these points. You can see Wolf’s comments and thinking in an interview in the British Journal of Photography.
Photojournalism (and photography in general) has a long history of overvaluing process when the only thing that matters is the result. What really matters to the reader? The process or the picture? The complaints smell a bit of “you took the easy way out.” That’s not a legitimate argument.
I don’t specifically care that Wolf chose to use the automated, surveillant and serendipitous cameras of Google. I also would not care had he used screen grab software rather than a camera to make the pictures. Using the camera here just smells of a strange justification and trying to find a way to make himself the photographer. The result is the same as a cropped screen grab but with lower quality. And as others have pointed out, screen grabs from surveillance cameras or TV have been published alongside what we consider “real photojournalism” for a very long time. (A notable difference is that these sorts of images have not won photojournalism awards in the past that I know of. Correct me in comments if I’m wrong.)
Wolf’s collection of images is fascinating, powerful, opinionated, curious and somewhat addictive. I like them very much. They are art as Girl Talk’s remixes or John Cage’s Chance Music are art. But they are not photojournalism. By presenting this work with a venerable photojournalism award, the World Press Photo jurors have declared them photojournalism, even when Wolf himself apparently does not.
My argument against these images as photojournalism is over the lack of context. As photojournalists we all know how critical it is not only to understand how an image we make or publish would be read, but also what the circumstances are surrounding those images so we can correctly inform the reader. We’ve all made photos sliced out of air that without context might mean something entirely different than the story we were there to tell. In our outtakes we all have images that might accidentally lie, and as photojournalists we have the responsibility to make sure those don’t see the light of day as journalism.
What is happening in these images? We can assume, but we cannot know. Wolf can assume, but he cannot know. He was not there to see the moment unfold and interpret its meaning. He could not follow up with the subjects to clarify what just happened.
Wolf uses the term “curate” to describe these images, and I think that is closer, but still not correct. He is collecting things out of context and interpreting them from personal experience, but not the background information. A curator has context and background from the maker of the images. Wolf lacks even that. An editor of photojournalism should also gather the background and context from the photographer/witness before publishing. Wolf can’t (realistically) do that either.
Our job is an imperfect one. We inevitably contextualize important events through the filters of our own eyes, our own lives and our own experiences. But we should do the same through the objective circumstances of the scene. It is the valiant effort to understand the scenes we photograph that makes us journalists. It is not the process we use to capture the images.
World Press Photo’s jurors surely knew this would be a controversial award. I find nothing wrong with Wolf’s work other than the label put on it by the jurors of the contest and by Wolf in entering it there. There are many appropriate venues and labels for “A Series of Unfortunate Events,” but Press Photo is not one.