As far as genres of photography go, we all have ones we gravitate toward and ones we leave alone. In the middle are ones we willingly dabble with but don't devote ourselves to. I'll never photograph insects, for example—don't grok bug pics—and I've always enjoyed photographing kids when I get the opportunity (not often recently). And occasionally I'll do a night scene. But I can name a number of photographers who are devoted to night scenes or have done a book of them, and David Alan Jay, my predecessor editor at Darkroom & Creative Camera Techniques, couldn't stand pictures of kids. Never took them, never published one. And of course accomplished insect photographers are masters of a very difficult art—their craft takes time and effort to learn.
But no matter what you like or don't like, almost nobody spurns landscape. Almost every photographer has done at least a few. Even Cartier-Bresson shot a few straight landscapes. August Sander too. I'm sure there are well-known figures in the history who have never done a single landscape—Helmut Newton, possibly?—but I'll bet they are few and far between.
I've been shooting much more landscape since I moved here to the Finger Lakes, and I've noticed something funny about the shooting: there are times when all the shots I take are good but none of them are great.
I'll show these two random "farmland" examples, from a stint of shooting the other day:
Sauder's farm, Welker Road
Sauder's Field, Welker Road
See what I mean? Both are good. Neither is great. Not only that, but every shot I took that session was the same...all of them were okay, but nothing really truly hit.
This is different than the photography I'm used to. I wrote an essay once that got a lot of play in which I said, "To be honest, most of my pictures suck. The saving grace of that admission is that most of your pictures suck, too. How could I possibly know such a thing? Because most of everybody’s pictures suck, that’s how. I’ve seen Cartier-Bresson’s contact sheets, and most of his pictures sucked. One of my teachers said that it was an epiphany for him when he took a class from Garry Winogrand and learned that most of Winogrand’s exposures sucked. It’s the way it is."
In other words, I'm used to junk-and-gems in the unedited mass of exposures. A bunch of throwaways—pictures that suck—and that occasional great shot.
Landscape doesn't seem like it follows that rule. I feel like I can get a pretty good shot every time I shoot a landscape. But the ones I really like, that I think really work, are just as elusive as those kinds of shots always are.
What it means is that there are numerous times when I go out shooting and come back with a bunch of exposures in which every single one is good but not a single one is great.
I find this almost...confusing. When I was an editor, one of my jobs was accepting and rejecting manuscript submissions. I wasn't very good at it. There were two kinds of submissions I really liked: the ones that were really good, and the ones that were really bad. Because the decision in each case was easy. It was the ones in the middle I had a tough time with. The ones that seemed like they were almost there—too good to reject outright—but not quite worthy of an unqualified, enthusiastic, wholehearted yes. I had trouble with those decisions.
It seems like it's the same way with landscape shooting. There's just a lot of it that's "almost there," almost something, not bad at all...but just not quite good enough to earn that wholehearted yes.
I always used to wonder if students are sometimes grappling with editing and having so many problems with editing simply because not a single shot is good. It greatly complicates the editing task! But really, there's no rule or law that states that any of the exposures in a given body of shooting has to be a keeper. Maybe everything is a "no." Even when everything is an "almost."
Personally, I feel a great loyalty, a great fealty, to the the idea that every shot that makes it into your "body of work," every shot that earns the status of a "keeper," a picture to show, a picture you'll call your work, yours, your own, should be something to which you can give completely unreserved, wholehearted, enthusiastic acceptance. A yes. Everything else should be a no. Even the "not quites."
Even when everything you get is a "not quite."
A 'yes' is a relief
Here's one I like (that single light on the far shore makes it for me—hard to see at this size; you might have to click to embiggen):
I took it with the iPhone, if you can believe that. (Still working on a review of the camera in the iPhone 7.)
Mike
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Land, sea, and air
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Featured Comments from:
Ken: "Re 'See what I mean? Both are good. Neither is great. Not only that, but every shot I took that session was the same...all of them were okay, but nothing really truly hit': In my limited observation, most landscapes (definitely mine, at least) benefit from having special light, whether a storm, twilight or whatever. In your examples here, two that are good but not great have kind of ordinary light. The one you like has much better light. I think that finding good light is the secret to successful landscapes, even more so than interesting subject matter. If you have both good light and interesting subject matter, you usually end up with pretty good shots. Add a good composition, and you have the recipe for great pictures. Does that oversimplify it?"
Dennis (partial comment): "Food for thought, Mike—is this really unique to landscape photography or is this more attributable to the fact that landscape photography is just something you dabble in?"
Mike replies: Good point. I don't know.
Geoff Wittig: "I think you're on to something, Mike. It's easy to take landscape photos that are pretty enough (especially here in the Finger Lakes!) but still just don't 'sing.' The same is true for landscapes anywhere. I've been taking landscape photos steadily about 25 years, and my percentage of real stinkers is now pretty low. But the fraction of shots that are really something special remains very small, no matter how hard I try. It just seems to me that the necessary intersection of good technique, compelling composition, perfect light at the right time of day and a subject that sings remains an elusive thing. And the more infrequent and casual I am about trying to take such photos, the lower my success rate. Sometimes I'll shoot for weeks without anything meaningful; and then, unexpectedly, I'll take three or four photos in a day that are all portfolio-worthy. What changed? I don't know! Maybe if I did, some of the challenge and the incentive to keep trying would be gone. Maybe it's best to consider it magic, or a random gift from the muse."
Mike replies: At least a mystery. And maybe, yes, magic.
s.wolters (partial comment): "Helmut Newton once made a series of very dark gloomy landscapes. Maybe he was just fed up with all these nudes and wanted a change. Cannot find them anywhere on the net. But there is a book called Sex & Landscapes."
Mike adds: Ah, so that's what "S&L" means. :-)
A (SFW) spread from Helmut Newton's Sex & Landscape
eo adds: "A quote from Helmut Newton in American Photo’s July/August 2001 edition: “I had to wait until I turned 80 to see someone, finally, take an interest in my landscapes. Before that, no magazine wanted to publish them, or had even shown an interest in them! When you are locked into a photo genre, it is very difficult to get out of it.” At the time, he had recently debuted two series of landscapes, one being Sex & Landscapes and the other, an ad campaign for Absolut vodka."
Dave in NM: "I think you've hit on the reason for the current trend of hyper-realism in landscape photography. I also think that it's very difficult to elicit emotion with a landscape photograph. There's a very narrowly defined sweet spot for reverie in the natural world. That sweet spot is unique to every individual—it's tied to memory, and it's experienced with all five senses. I'm not talking about aesthetics. Beauty in and of itself does not make a worthy picture. I'm talking about involvement; that sense of being drawn into a picture and experiencing it first hand. Landscape done well is difficult. Hitting that sweet spot often seems more like a binary exercise than a matter of degrees...at least, that's how I experience it."
Stan B.: "I suspect it's because usually (usually) you have less 'moving parts' in a landscape, or at least they're moving slower and you have more time to check, assess, recheck—unlike, say, in street photography. As a result, your shots can have the exact exposure, composition and everything else you could control... except for that momentary magic, the one missing element you can't contemplate that can often make a picture, despite your best calculations. End result, a perfect picture postcard—instead of a good photograph.
"Perhaps that's why those incredible tornado landscapes are so mesmerizing—they introduce the element of the unexpected into a usually staid landscape composition."
Richard Newman: "For me, the thing that differentiates good from outstanding landscape images is the presence or absence of a focal point (or two). The farm house provides foci, but the field shot doesn't. The bottom image has two, the building and the tree. In this case it works well. The building leads to the water, and the tree to the sky. So there is no conflict. Anyway that's my point. A really good landscape needs one or two focal points.
"The Finger Lakes sure are photogenic aren't they? I've always liked that area."
Ed Hawco: "Can't help it; had to meddle. Here's a quickly processed version of the farm scene with some effects to make it pop a bit:
"I'm not calling this finished, but it's pointing down the road I'd go with the full-resolution version if it was my job to do so.
"One other note: as I was working on this scene I found myself wishing for a wider view. As it is, it's a photograph of a farm. From a 'landscape' perspective, I'd rather see a 'landscape with a farm in it.' (Wider.)"
Fred Haynes: "You know it bothers me that a picture, and one presumed to be good, or maybe better then good, is taken with a bloody phone! Its like the 'other side' is winning!"
Mike replies: I need to write a post or two about that. I've detected a few trends lately.
Dave Karp: " I think that one of the issues with landscapes is that we don't always work hard enough. If the scene itself is beautiful, with a little work we can get a good photo. By its nature, landscape photography often presents the opportunity to really 'work' the scene. Unlike the quick 'react and grab' of a street photo or sports photo, the landscape often sits there relatively unchanged. Of course, there are times when the clouds are moving quickly, or the lighting is changing rapidly, but often, the landscape allows for some real work. Changing locations, switching lenses, moving in closer, thinking about exposure, waiting for the weather or light to change, and/or switching orientation of the camera, can all make for a better photograph than the one we first envisioned. The fact that we can often get a photo that feels pretty good right away often discourages the hard work of making a really good one."
Keith Mallett (partial comment): "Since I think of myself primarily as a landscape photographer your post makes me want to elucidate, primarily to myself, exactly what and why I feel driven to illustrate my love of place with photographs (and sometimes with words). I know my main drive is an endless fascination with land: the way it has been shaped and formed by either natural process or mankind’s hand."
Dave New (partial comment): "Out of curiosity, after reading Keith Mallett's post (he and I resonate about emotional responses to the landscape), I went to his site/gallery. Highly recommended as a random excellence post. He gets what it takes to invoke an emotional response in the viewer, something I am still learning to do."
Alan Carmody: "I looked them up, and I believe Adam Sauder, the farmer, spells it 'Sauder.' 'A,' not 'O.'"
Mike replies: Thanks Alan. Fixed now.
Kenneth Tanaka (partial comment): "One reason that your landscape images may often initially seem generally 'good' is because they’re actually mementos of a much richer sensory experience. You’re not just looking at the picture; you’re remembering the sounds, the breeze, the scents, the temperature of that moment. As time passes those other memories usually fade leaving you only with that picture which might not stand on its own."
[For the full text of "partial comments," see the full Comments Section. This might be a good place to add that "Featured Comments" are not a selection of the "best" comments, but of representative ones, for people who don't have time to read all of the comments for a given post. Often—in this case particularly—there are also some really good comments that aren't featured. —Mike the Ed.]
mike plews: "I think there are two reasons why these pictures are good but not great. First off you are a good photographer so everything you shoot will meet a certain standard. The second consideration may be that you have not yet lived in the Finger Lakes area long enough to work through the images that initially grab you. You simply may not yet have the deeper understanding of your environment necessary to make that distinctive image you are looking for. Keep shooting. I have been commuting from a farm in the Loess Hills of Iowa since 1994 and only in the last few years have I felt like I was at the point where I could 'look through it to it.' Enjoy your infatuation with your surroundings and give it some time."
Mike replies: "Look through to it"—I've felt that too. Wise words sensei Plews.
, and the monograph 
. Retired now, he writes occasionally for TOP (see his other articles by finding his name in the "Categories" list in the right-hand sidebar). He and his wife live in Maine.
