Because last week's print arrived damaged due to inadequate packaging, and I didn't want to discourage myself by confronting that again, for this week I chose a print that came in a box. The box turned out to be oversize, and the print inside wrapped in bubble wrap. Then, there was a crystal-clear fitted sleeve. The print inside was beautifully matted, and the mat had perfect corner cuts. Removing it from the sleeve, I found that the mat was hinged, following "best practices." Lifting the window mat, I saw that the print itself was held in position with transparent corners—again, following archival best practices. It's obviously an inkjet, and appears to be made on a high-quality semi-gloss inkjet paper, some of which are superb.
The print comes to us from photographer/printmaker Christopher J. May, of Oakbrook Terrace, Illinois. It shows an old steam locomotive emerging from a cloud of its own steam on a Winter day, with some hints of period-appropriate red brick buildings visible in the background. Under the smokestack is what appears to be a large convex circular mirror, and on the nose of the engine is a gold- or brass-colored circular number plate with the engine number, "346."
There is nothing to criticize here. It's a beautifully made print. The dark areas all have detail, and the clouds of steam are left as bright as possible without losing detail. The sense of modeling in the central feature, the round nose (is that what you'd call it?) of the locomotive, is exquisite, and the bright golden "frame" of the number plate is exceptionally vivid and almost seems to pop out of the picture. (I suspect a fine lens was used—looks it, anyway.) My little illustration snap of it doesn't even come particularly close—the print is finely judged.
In short, an "A" grade in terms of conventional, mainstream printmaking craftsmanship.
'Insight'—or not
At the same time, I've found over this past week that it's not a print that offers me much. (Railfans might beg to differ!) I haven't gone back to look at it for pleasure very often. So I thought I'd climb out on a limb and venture to offer what I call an "insight." An insight is an observation or suggestion that you just throw out there without knowing whether it's correct...just something for the recipient to think about. But it's up to the receiver to decide whether it pertains or not, not the giver. Like throwing spaghetti at the wall then letting the other guy decide whether it sticks. I don't get to say. It's just where my mind went over the course of this week is all.
What came to mind on about my second day with this print was something I have a hazy memory of. I seem to remember a long-ago interview with guitarist Robert Fripp, of King Crimson, who said that his skills were such that he could say anything with his guitar, but that he had learned over the years that he just didn't have a lot to say...in contrast to Jimi Hendrix, who had a whole lot to say. I hope I'm remembering that correctly but I might not be. At any rate, that's the concept—that there are two aspects to most creative, expressive art: what you have to say and the means by which you say it. A vivid example of the tension between these two things is illustrated in the life and art of Vincent Van Gogh; familiarity with Van Gogh's story can help almost any creative soul in any medium. Despite having not been an artist for most of his life, he found he had so much to say that he just had to try. He threw himself into learning to draw and paint. His early efforts were woefully clumsy and frankly pretty awful. But he was so driven, and worked so hard, that eventually his mature style emerged out of the forge-fires of that intense desire to express himself. In so many ways he's the prototype of the modern artist.
Something I've noticed over the years is that photographers who love to concentrate on the "how you say it" half—the skills, craft, materials, and equipment—are sometimes neglecting the other aspect, i.e., the visual content—what they have to say, their distinctive, individualistic way of saying it, and the depth and authenticity of their commitment to that. Any time I come across a picture that looks like it wouldn't be out of place a local art fair with a modest pricetag on it, it has a little higher hurdle to get over to win my admiration. An old steam locomotive telegraphs that it might be an "SPS"—a standard photographic subject—one of a variety of things that any avid shutterbug would come across and think ooh, there's a photo opportunity, better take a picture of that.
It's silly of me to pretend to diagnose this as if it actually has anything to do with Christopher. You can't get a handle on someone's visual interests and passions from one picture. Besides, there are railfans...and photographers who dedicate their lives and work to train pictures. So as I say, it would be up to him to decide if this is useful or not.
However, it's one of the felicities of critique that the person in "the teacher's chair"—the critic—doesn't actually have to be right to be useful. I'll give you an example. When I was acquainting with Beethoven in the '80s, having not grown up with classical music, I conceived a passionate love for Italian pianist Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli's performance of the First Piano Concerto. I was learning a lot about classical music at the time—when I get interested in something I tend to really throw myself at it—and I was devouring Gramophone magazine and The Penguin Guide to Recorded Classical Music written by the same music critics, Ivan March (1928–2018), Edward Greenfield (1928–2015), and Robert Layton. (The 2010 edition was the last.)
Penguin Guide authors Robert Layton, Ivan March, and Edward Greenfield
Anyway, these august tourguides hated Michaelangeli's Beethoven Concerto No. 1. (Courteously, of course.) This shook me in my greenhorn earnestness, such that I had to delve into it—I listened to my Michelangeli record over and over in the following weeks, trying to detect what they objected to, and bought not one but three of the versions that Gramophone and the Penguin Guide approved of, which I could barely afford at the time. (It was like really looking at the sunfish, if you'll recall The Parable of the Sunfish from the other day). I concluded that I really did like Michelangeli's version the best. It spoke to me personally far more than the others. It was the first time I realized that I had to go my own way and not necessarily fall in line with the judgements of even knowledgeable, celebrated critics. I haven't feared to do so since.
Meaning, in this case, that Christopher might engage with my critique but decide that he likes SPS's, and that making superlative prints of standard subjects really is his bag and that he's going to go, pardon the allusion, full steam ahead with it. And that can be very useful too. Disagreeing with a critic can be just as clarifying for any practitioner as agreeing with him or her.
Or, as I say, my insight might just be wrong. But anyway that's what I'd suggest he think about—putting more effort into working on what to say. Because I don't think his printmaking craft needs more work.
The horse's mouth
But let's turn to what he has to say about it, with my comments interspersed. As usual, I only read his comments today, after living with the print for the week.
Title: Welcome Back, #346!
Caption: After seven years of rebuilding, Denver and Rio Grande Consolidation No. 346 rolls out of the roundhouse at the Colorado Railroad Museum in Golden, Colorado, on December 9th, 2007.
[So it's actually a news photo, in a sense! I didn't see that coming. Maybe not an SPS after all. His details of the event also signifies that his interest in, and knowledge of, historical steam engines might run deeper than I presumed.]
Camera: Pentax K100D
[Pentax...fits nicely with Friday's post.]
Lens: Pentax FA 77mm ƒ/1.8 Limited
[Well that's a relief. At least I was right about something.]
Printer: Epson P800
[That's two weeks in a row—the P800 is batting 1.000 so far in our Print Crit feature.]
Paper: Red River Palo Duro Softgloss Rag
"Over the years," writes Christopher, "I've tweaked the image each time I've printed it. Since it's one that I've printed several times already, it's interesting to see how much better I've gotten with each iteration of it. Post processing tools have gotten better but I think I've also improved, too."
David Vestal wrote entertainingly about the dissonance between the art market's desire for early prints and the fact that most printers get better the longer they print a photograph. For workers—photographers—late prints tend to be better. For the art market, early prints, because they're contemporaneous, are valued more highly. David had typically incisive things to say about it. He was never afraid of lobbing grenades at the follies of the art world.
Christopher does speak of this image a bit dismissively: "This has been one of my most popular prints (well, popular meaning that I've sold more than two copies of it, LOL!)."
Still talking about his printing, he says, "if this makes the cut as one...you review, I'd love to hear your thoughts on it for further things I could improve."
That bolsters my sense that he likes concentrating on the craft and would rather focus on that. So my notion here is that he doesn't need to improve. Not his printing, anyway. He's got the craft angle down. The print and presentation are easily "good enough." Both exude well-honed judgement and skill. What he might think about working on now is a deeper engagement with what he really wants to photograph and how, and to a more robust and confident—particular, idiosyncratic, shall we say—sense of self-expression.
That's where my thoughts went this week, as I mulled over Welcome Back #346!
And if my little arrow misses its mark completely for Christopher, as I've acknowledged it might, then maybe it might do another person reading this some good, as a way to think about their progress from now going forward.
Many thanks to Christopher. It's a pleasure to see such care and attention to detail.
...And now I get to go open next week's, oh boy! A treat for me.
Mike
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(To see all the comments, click on the "Comments" link below.)
Featured Comments from:
Jim Arthur: "Great post and really nice print. It sounds like this picture was made on a day to remember."
Steve C: "I'm with everybody else, this is great content that anyone with an interest in making pictures can learn from, Mike, and we get exposed to some new work and craft (I didn't even know what hinge mounting was until today) in the process.
"Sometimes we don't even know that we feel strongly about a direction for our work until we get critique that we disagree with. It's a negative kind of positive feedback that we are on the right track, and can clarify your point of departure.
"I've consistently found Ralph Gibson and Joel Meyerowitz to the be two of the most articulate speakers about vision and artistic purpose. Clear, and unapologetic about what they're doing in their own work, and both working masters.
"Gibson openly says he has no story to tell, that he is a formalist, interested primarily in the power of symbols, the way two pictures can speak to one another. That, ultimately, he is interested in how he sees: 'My own perceptual act.'
"If anyone wants to deepen their practice of ideas, Meyrowitz's course at Masters of Photography is worth at least twice the price of admission. As he says in the introduction: 'Photography looks like pictures, but it's really about ideas: and they're your ideas.'
"The thing about ideas, unlike craftsmanship, is that the objective standard for what counts as 'good' is a little more subjective. Ideas tend to resonate strongly with some and not with others.
"I recall reading one landscape photographer describe the challenge, saying it is much easier to make an impressive landscape picture than it is to make one that leaves a lasting impression."
Christopher J May (partial comment): "Your point about it being an SPS does hit home, though. Sometimes I struggle with the fact that much of what I produce can seem like technically sound shots of cliché subjects. I used to spend far more time trackside taking photos. These days, it's not a subject I pursue as much as I once did. Some of this has to do with the fact that I've seen truly inventive work from rail photographers like Frederick Manfred Simon. When I see shots like his, there's a part of me that knows that I don't have the vision to be that creative and unique.
"This goes back to your point about having something to say. In that vein, my work has changed quite a bit since the Welcome Back, #346! image was taken. I'm much more project-oriented these days. The project I've worked the hardest on and the one that I've tried to give my best voice to is my 'Icons of the Plains' project in which I try to photograph grain elevators, especially older wooden elevators, in a way that gives voice to my appreciation for the simple aesthetic beauty of these structures. While I would have I liked to send something from this series, I couldn't pick one. Since the project really works better as a whole, I couldn't settle on just one print for the critique.
"Going back to the SPS discussion, even with the focus that project oriented photography affords, I still struggle with the fact that much of what I produce probably tends toward an aesthetic that matches up with SPS norms. Grain elevator silhouettes at sunset, for instance. The problem lies in the fact that I just like those kinds of photos and like the process of creating them. Because the end goals of my photography are to enjoy the process and to create beautiful prints of that work (for myself, if no one else), I've started trying to let worries about creating cliché shots of 'standard photographic subjects' pass and just focus on making images that meet those goals.
[...]
"Thanks for the thoughtful critique and the kind words about my printing abilities!"
[Ed. Note: You can read the full text of Partial Comments in the Comments Section.]
Trevor Johnson: "Michelangeli, Horowitz and Rubinstein were regarded as the great three pianists around the 1950s and 1960s. I was fortunate, through my piano teacher, to know both Horowitz and Rubinstein. Sadly, the occasion when I was to hear Michelangeli play live, the maestro was ill and the opportunity never arose again. Of the three, Horowitz's star still shines brightly, though the other two have been somewhat forgotten. However, when you hear Pollini play (one of the few pianists alive today I would actually pay to hear live), the influence of Michelangeli is very clear, particularly in Pollini's Beethoven."
