Photo by Benjamin Kelley, Boston, Massachusetts, USA
Photo by Rich Barbara, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, USA
Tired
I'll say a few words about each of the above pictures, but out of order. Last first.
The third picture here was hard to pick. Probably a dozen people sent pictures on the theme of museumgoers resting, from a variety of viewpoints, and I could easily have picked four or five others as great representatives of the submissions. All had their charms and points of view, none were poor.
I do recall reading that people in general (not just kids!) have a tendency to overdo it when visiting museums. There's a strong tendency to want to see everything or cover it all. We've set aside the day, we've made the trip, and most especially we've paid our admission fee, and we've got to get our money's worth! So we trudge around the museum until we've had enough, then we trudge some more because we haven't seen this section or that room. (This is an example of the Sunk Cost Fallacy according to Richard Thaler). So we typically wear ourselves out and make ourselves cross. I have vivid memories of time moving with glacial slowness when I was a kid. No memories of being bored in museums, but I do have a distinct memory of being stuck at the Milwaukee Symphony while the orchestra sawed and moaned on and on and on and on while I squirmed in my skin. I sympathize with this little girl (her eyes are open, you'll notice—she's not sleeping).
In picking this from the others I do think I was influenced by the fact that I'm familiar with a lot of Albano's work. He took this one [a year and] a couple of months ago at the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes, in Buenos Aires. "My daugher Margarita loves museums, but that day she'd had enough. :-) Shot on a Sony a6000 with 16–50mm kit zoom I bought from my dear friend Juan Buhler."
Essential transaction
When I saw the top picture I reacted as a photographer, not a viewer, which is a common mistake of mine. Having spent so many years as a photographer I became sensitive to what are called tonal mergers, where two parts of the picture that should be separated are the same tone and blend too much. An example of the problem I usually turn to is Portugal 1976 by Josef Koudelka...(click on the image at the link to see the larger version). I've seen prints of this where there's just the barest highlight between the nun's head and the man's jacket—crucial, in my judgement—and prints where there isn't. The latter would be a tonal merger. So if I were Benjamin Kelley I would have just moved to the side a bit to set his daughter's whole head against the lighter background of the wall.
But I didn't take the picture, and yes, there's a rim of highlight there, and no, it doesn't ruin the picture in any way, so...here's an example of where I shouldn't look at the picture like I had been the photographer, but rather just put my "viewer's hat" on and appreciate the picture that's being shown to me. You shouldn't react to a finished picture by thinking of how you might have framed it differently if you were the one taking it! That's not fair. One might as sensibly react that museums shouldn't hang paintings where they're struck by direct sunlight. That would be another first response to the photo that would interfere with seeing it for what it is. Anyway, once I let go of my first reaction, the photo grew on me more, and I found myself liking the obvious implication of childlike wonder and the contrast between the real sunlight in the room and the mysterious glow of the light depicted in the painting. And it's beautiful, and I'm just old-fashioned enough to believe that that never hurts.
It sums up the basic, essential transaction of museums. They display wondrous things, we look and wonder. Benjamin writes, "I’ve been photographing my daughter looking at art for a number of years now. She was newly four here, in 2015. This was taken at our local museum, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, with John White Alexander’s Isabella and the Pot of Basil."
Punctum
Punctum: A concept from Roland Barthes' book Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography.
- To wound.
- Denoting the wounding, personally touching detail [of a photograph] which establishes [for the viewer] a direct relationship with the object or person within it.
—Urban Dictionary
As for the middle picture, it's perfectly nice as a set piece, but then I noticed that whitish streak in front of the seated man. After a flash of puzzlement, I realized it's his other hand. That's something that would be considered an "imperfection" by some, but to me it's the punctum, the peculiar little odd detail that brings the rest of the picture alive. I realized the seated man is energetically gesticulating at one of the paintings, and from there I imagine his energized voice as he expounds on (enthuses over? Dismisses?) whichever of the paintings he's gesturing at, and from there I go to his rather mysteriously robed and apparently somewhat hunched hearer, and from there to their relationship and their possible history together as—what? Spouses, friends, student and teacher? Those thoughts brings the picture alive for me and draws me into its aliveness. From there I can appreciate the set piece, the nice formal qualities of the picture.
Rich took the picture at the Carnegie Museum of Art in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, a with an Olympus E-M10 and a 25mm ƒ/1.8 lens.
Photo by David Mackenzie, Bedford, New Hampshire, USA
Last in this first installment is this happy shot from Dave Mackenzie. I read a book about the Mona Lisa once...it's curious how the painting got the status it has. Dave relates: "We were running late one day in Paris and decided to visit the Louvre about half an hour before closing. Given the short amount of time we had we headed directly for the Mona Lisa. When we turned the corner into the exhibit space we were met by this. A docent told me were lucky to arrive so late so that the crowd was much thinner than normal. At least nobody was taking a 'selfie.'"
...Except I do see at least one person taking a selfie! At the top of the crowd above the striped hat. I imagine many people have taken pictures of this scene, but Dave's is a good one. I like it.
[Part II will appear on March 28th, 2021*.]
Mike
*Just kidding. Sorry I lost the thread on this. It got engulfed in my unmanageability and the oceanic disorganization of all the raw material (inside and outside of my head) that I trawl through to make TOP. I shouldn't say when I'll get to the other nine, but hopefully it won't take a year for Part II...though I never know...sigh.....
If you need a reminder (and why would you not?), I made a call for work on the theme of "At the Museum" an entire year ago (I think exactly, though I haven't checked) and then I very badly dropped the ball and just didn't come through with the edited picks. Now with more time at home, I decided to address the problem by chipping away at it a few pictures at a time. I apologize for the delay—the long delay—but if I'm honest there's really no excuse. I'm sorry. Mea culpa.
Original contents copyright 2020 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site.
(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:
Dogman: "Excellent choices to start off a new Baker's Dozen! Reading the article, I'm reminded how I no longer look at photos as a photographer but as a viewer. A 'consumer,' if you will, of photographs and images. When I looked at photos with the photographer's eye, I looked for errors and flaws. Then I came to grips with the fact that the photographs I like the best are candid moments and found objects, none of which are ever perfectly arranged subjects. I like the imperfect elements that make their way into photographs. They become Barthes' punctum for me."
Benjamin Polidario: "The photographer's/viewer's dilemma: is it similar to a preacher's dilemma when he listens to another preach? I often critique instead of just basking in the message. Bad, Bad, Bad."
David Lee (edited comment): "Nice post. Your comments about people trying to get the most of their very expensive museum tickets are spot on. I was talking about this with my son not long ago. The Met used to have a policy that the price was 'suggested,' so you could either pay full price or whatever you could pay. Now that policy changed and you are charged full price. Not sure I agree with it. The Met has a lot of works that were given to them for free in order to give all the people a chance to enjoy them. The Gelman Collection comes to mind, for example. I think that people should be charged as in a parking lot, full first hour and then on 15 minute increments. A lot of people go the museum to get the selfie and buy a souvenir in the shop.
"I used to have a layover in Chicago. We used to stay in The Palmer House, not far from The Art Institute. They had the same policy as The Met and I took full advantage of it. Paying maybe a third of the suggested price and then going to see the four or five paintings I loved. In and out in about one hour. A visit to Central Camera in Wabash Avenue was also a required stop."
Mike replies: It was one of the great things about going to art school in downtown Washington, D.C.: a lot of museums are open to the public, so you can pop in and out. I would often do what you describe, just kill some time by "visiting" a favorite artwork for a few minutes, or find a peaceful corner as a place to read.
MHMG: "I do admire the first photograph in this Part I series. Great for the photo opportunity, but shame on the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston for allowing direct sunlight to strike the painting. We're talking 40,000+ lux illumination levels on the lower half of that painting, and yah, the museum conservators could have filtered the UV radiation at the skylight/window source, but they will find out in just a few years how much fading can occur with blue wavelength radiation at such high intensity levels. Just sayin'...epic fail for museum staff, great shot by the photographer!"
[MHMG is an expert on light fading and image permanence—Ed.]
Rod S.: "The top picture by Benjamin Kelley is really quite lovely. My initial thoughts were surprise that direct sunlight was being allowed to strike the painting, but simultaneously 'wow, isn’t it beautiful.' I understand your point about the tonal convergence, but in this instance it is very slight. Benjamin has chosen to follow the more important principle of keeping his perspective true. If he had done as you suggested and stepped to his left, both the verticals and horizontals of the painting and floor would have been skewed out of their true relationship. The result would be ugly and 'unworthy.'
"Part of the success of this photograph comes from the gaze of the child, while another, perhaps under-appreciated, contribution comes from the inclusion of a child, with her expected animated manner, injecting an informal point of contrast into a structured and formal setting. Bravo, Benjamin."
Ben: "What a pleasant surprise it was to open TOP this weekend to find my photograph there—right after putting the subject to bed, in fact!
"Thanks to everyone for the kind words, and thanks to Mike for featuring the photo. It's a favorite of mine; obviously it carries personal meaning for me, so it's nice to read positive comments from others. Chris's comment echoes my own feeling about the composition, that I like how the top of her head continues the line of the shadow. Maybe I'll try to print it sometime, see how it turns out. And yes, the strong light on the painting is concerning. Perhaps they've corrected it...maybe once the museum opens again I'll go have a look! Thanks again, I'm quite flattered. Hope everyone is staying healthy and keeping up positive energies!
"P.S. Regarding Moose's comment and photo, my wife and I got married at the Worcester Art Museum. :-) Funny, the little coincidences...."
Submitted by Charlie Dunton of Yorktown, Virginia, USA. "I took this photo of my granddaughter during a visit to a local Five Guys restaurant for lunch. I spent the entire time photographing her, ending up with over 200 images. This was one of the few times she gave any indication I was even there." There's much more to Charlie's story, and it's pretty sweet, but I'll save it for when I do individual posts about the pictures.
Submitted by Rob Spring of Barre, Vermont, USA. "Here is a photo of my grandson, Waylon, with his dad, my son-in-law. This was the last ride on the swing that my kids used more than 30 years ago. The swing was attached to a limb of an ancient but dying Vermont sugar maple which was cut down the next day after standing in what is now our front yard for over 155 years."
Submitted by Jerker Andersson of Lund, Sweden. "Early Fall, 2004. My father in law, Håkan, and his first grandchild Elsa have a conversation in the dining room. Over the years since then, my wife Åsa and I have had two more kids, a girl and a boy, and my wife’s father has five grandchildren in all. But this was in the beginning. Sometimes I find it hard to remember what life was like without the kids. Lots of time to spend, I suppose."
Submitted by Monika Göhmann of Darmstadt, Germany. "In the image you see my parents with my daughter. My mother hated to have her photograph taken, but my daughter convinced her to sit down with her on this day, because we didn’t have any photo of the three of them together. My parents were 95 (father) and 93 (mother) years old at the time. Only four months later, they had to leave their house to live in an old peoples home; in 2020 they both died. So this image is a true treasure for my family!"
Submitted by Marc Vayssières of Davis, California, USA. "When my wife was dying of cancer a visit by our granddaughter was the only thing that could still cheer her up. Completely oblivious of the tubes and other medical devices Aveline would climb in the bed and cuddle with her Nana for a little book reading."
Submitted by Kent McColl Wiley of Earlysville, Virginia, USA. "A photo circa 1900 that contains many relatives on my mother's side of the family, by the Wadd Brothers. My grandmother, Jessie McColl Sclater, is the young girl with a lace collar on the front left. She is in front of her grandfather, John Cunningham MaClure, of the Royal Engineers who established the white settlement of Abbotsford, BC. His wife, my grandmother's grandmother, Martha MacEntyre MaClure, is to his left, and to her left is my great grandmother Susan MaClure McColl. Photo courtesy of Vancouver Archives."
Submitted by Jeremy Fagan of Liverpool, UK. "My Dad died about five years ago, in the early hours of a Sunday morning. We drove down to see my Mum, and by the time we got there, there wasn’t anything practical to do, so we went to Rockingham Castle, and my daughters played with their Grandma. Memory is a funny thing—I could have sworn that I took this picture that day, but when I looked for this picture for the Baker’s Dozen, I see that it was actually at the same place about six weeks later when we’d gone down again to help sort out Dad’s books and CDs. My Mum had cared for Dad for nearly a decade, and this picture shows her now being able to give them all of her attention, on a beautiful Spring day. She’s just been with us for a week this summer, and the three of them are still this close."
Submitted by Paul Martini of Bluff, Utah, USA. "My granddaughter Blaire in an approximately 800–1,000-year-old Anasazi/ancestral Puebloan kiva."
Submitted by John Gordon of Kalamunda, Western Australia. "Tabitha and Angus, my grandchildren, fooling around on the front deck at a beach cottage we rented at a small Indian Ocean coastal town several hours north of Perth, Western Australia, in 2008. They were both natural models and I was fortunate to get this with my then new-to-me digital camera, a tiny Nikon P5100 point-and-shoot. I love the pose and the colours. Tabitha later was in high demand as a model for several years and Angus was head-hunted for the junior squad of a professional UK soccer team. Today, she is applying to do her PhD at one of Australia’s most prestigious Universities and Angus is enrolled in an environmental science degree. Tempus fugit!"
Submitted by Chris Kern of Rockville, Maryland, USA. "This photograph was made in the backyard of our family home in Leonia, New Jersey, sometime during the summer of 1951 by my father, Gene Kern (1914–2010). The subjects are his father, Robert (1886–1963), and my sister, Robin (b. 1949). It was shot with one of the best film cameras I've ever used, a prewar Zeiss Contax II with a collapsible 50mm Sonnar lens, which my grandfather purchased in New York from a German-Jewish refugee—reportedly for an exorbitant price because he wanted to help the fellow out without embarrassing him by appearing to offer charity—and which I inherited many years later as a teenager."
Submitted by Michael Gay of Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA. "While visiting our local botanical garden, my 'wood nymph' granddaughter exclaimed, 'Hey, Granddaddy, check this out.' She picked the setting, struck the pose, then BAM, I took the shot."
Submitted by Craig P. Beyers of Ashburn, Virginia, USA. "A picture of my grandson, taken with my iPhone on a Disney cruise with my daughter and family. Benjamin was impatient as we waited for lunch on the ship and was unable to stay still. His father placed him on the window sill (Porthole sill? Porthole surround?) where he stood, sat, and finally—at my urging as I visualized this photo—lay down and stayed still for less than a minute. This was the best of the multiple photos I took. I like it because of his look, the lovely clouds in the background, and the way the porthole and surround acts like a leading line to bring your eye into the photo. While the clouds are the whitest and brightest part of the image, the slight glow on Benjamin’s face also draws your eye. His curved body laying on the porthole surround complements the surround and the porthole. I printed this and a picture of his sister as gifts for my daughter, which she’s framed and has in her house. I’ve done the same and have both pictures in our apartment."
Submitted by William Schneider of Athens, Ohio, USA. "Not having any children or grandchildren myself, I'm glad that you offered other options for entry. This is a photograph of me in 1950 with my maternal grandmother. Readily apparent from my father's photo, he and my grandmother had a wicked sense of humor when they got together. Their personalities still live for me in this photo. When he died, I inherited his collection of Kodachrome slides and the 35mm Kodak Retina camera that he used. I spent about half a year working part-time to clean away mold and digitize the slides. It was a lot of work, but there are so many treasured memories in the pictures."
Original contents copyright 2020 by Michael C. Johnston and/or the bylined author. All Rights Reserved. Links in this post may be to our affiliates; sales through affiliate links may benefit this site. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.
