This is the greatest time of the year to live in the Finger Lakes. In the morning I head up to the local Mennonite market, which is located right next to the fields where all the produce is grown. Berries that were on the vine before the sun came up are in my bowl for breakfast. Yum. I just eat 'em plain, nothing added. A big bowl of fruit is a meal. These strawberries just melt in your mouth—you hardly have to chew.
It's easy to be critical of the Instagrammy practice of people snapping quick pix of the food they're about to eat. But I don't know—I consider it kind of touching and human. It's a quiet little celebration, isn't it? Almost a secular way of saying grace. "Look what I get to eat!" Isn't that wonderful? Thanks and praise.
I would never make it as a food photographer, though. I tend to think of a continuum with documentary at one end and the impulse to control and perfect over at the other. Documentary photographers accept what they find. They want to show how things really look. Studio photographers tend to be over on the "perfecting" end, making things look just so. Food photographers definitely do that. They want to control the way things look and make them look the way they want them to look.
(me)
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Documenting Perfecting
It's worthwhile thinking where on this continuum you like to be. It can clarify where you stand, what you're after.
When I was in art school, we went on a studio visit to a big, beautiful, well-established local studio in D.C. I don't think we witnessed any part of this—I think we were just told the story, and I visualized it in my mind. (Isn't it funny that I can't quite remember which it was now? Memory is part fabulized.) Anyway the story is that they were doing a shoot for a fast food chain, and the restaurant delivered a stack of racks as high as a human, all the racks full of fresh buns. Searching for the perfect bun, the food stylist quickly inspected each candidate and flipped it over her shoulder as she rejected it. Out of those hundreds and hundreds of buns, they found three (the selects are called "heroes") worthy of being photographed for the shoot. On the floor of the studio behind the stylist was a cascading mountain of rejected buns.
I decided then and there not to be a food photographer. Perfection kinda bores me. If I had to sort through stacks of buns, I would rather look for the oddball one that had something wrong with it and that looked weird and hence, interesting. I'd rather photograph that. But I would never have the patience in the first place. It's a bun. It looks like it looks. Take that picture.
Good and good for you: blueberries, black raspberries, and black currants
I plucked out a few distorted raspberries before I took this, though. Tryin' the best I can to do what I'm supposed to do....
Mike
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Featured Comments from:
Dennis: "I've considered a similar scale, but instead of degree of control, I've looked at it as degree of creation. Found images on one end, fabricated on the other, with all sorts of variation in between. I love looking at photos made by people who create something that wasn't there, from Julie Blackmon to Abelardo Morell to Steve McCurry (whoops—snarky !), but my comfort zone, the reason I pick up a camera, is to find interesting things in the world in front of my eyes. Over the years, I've read articles about how, in order to grow as a photographer, you should challenge yourself to master this, that and the other thing, and I've dabbled with studio lighting and I just find it a chore. I guess that's too far on the creation side of the scale for me."
adamct: "The urge to perfection has some significant downsides that I've been thinking about more and more. Idealized photographs of perfect items/scenes/people have the effect of changing our perception of what is real in the world. The most compelling example I've heard of this was a photographer lamenting the fact that other photographers and magazines only published pictures of beautiful, clean, healthy lions, some of whom may have been photographed in a zoo, rather than in the wild. His point was that those images—which look wonderful in a magazine or advertisement—hide the fact that most wild lions look nothing like that. Lions in the wild may look emaciated, or have wounds or their manes may be ratty and infested with ticks. By only showing images of fat, healthy, clean lions, people believe that is how lions live in the wild, and therefore don't realize the actual plight of real lions. (I'm going off of memory here, so please excuse me if the example I'm thinking of didn't involve lions, but some other wild animal.)
"It's not hard to think of other examples where this plays out in daily life. If you only see pictures of slender, buxom, beautiful women with flawless skin, then you tend to believe that many women actually look like that. If all you see is pictures of hamburgers in perfect buns, you might expect to get a hamburger that looks like that the next time you are at McDonald's or Burger King or Wendy's.
"That may not seem like a big deal, but think about how that plays out in another context: there are lots of children who won't eat fruit that has any blemishes whatsoever. No bananas with brown spots. No slightly bruised raspberries. No apples that are less than perfectly red. This is partly because they are led to believe that fruit should be perfect, and therefore any flaw is a sign that the fruit is bad or defective somehow. And because real fruit has minor blemishes or irregularities, these children wind up eating hardly any fruit at all. Imagine if those children regularly saw pictures of fruit and vegetables with minor blemishes being celebrated on Instagram or in advertisements as part of a delicious meal. Might that change attitudes? I'm almost certain it would. And we might wind up with more fruits and vegetables that are bred for flavor, rather than appearances and their hardiness.
"I could go on an on with other examples of how perfectionism skews our perception of what is normal, but this comment is already long enough...."
Graham Byrnes: "The sister of a friend was an assistant in an advertising agency when I was an undergrad...so, early '80s. They had the McDonalds account for Australia. None of the food was real; it was all crafted carefully from synthetic rubber to be reliably perfect, day in, day out. I got to hold a french fry and, aside from smell and grease, it looked absolutely 100% real."
Mike replies: Just going on memory, and IANAE, but I believe that's illegal in the U.S. The food pictured can be inedible—for instance, a burger might have acid dripped on it to create fake "steam"—but it has to be the real food being advertised.