I captured the original version of this image  a couple of years ago, during a commercial photo-shoot in Oregon’s Willamette valley. Mother and lamb were walking along, grazing as they went, then the lamb got curious about me and stopped to investigate. The mother ewe stopped, too, then turned and looked at the lamb, as if  to say: “Come on, leave the photographer alone, follow me, and do as I do”

Like children of a certain age, the lamb seemingly ignored all that and came straight at me, approaching to within sniffing distance of my lens. Or… perhaps mother’s look was meant to say that she approved of the investigation and would be watching from a safe distance(?)  Either way,  I treasure the moment as it shows a mother’s concern; so universal in nature, expressed with or without verbal communication.

I used Pixel-Bender to reprocess one of my images from the Oregon Coast. (I call it “Liberty West” because the setting sun “touching” the sea stack reminds me of the Statue of Liberty.)

The default shooting mode of modern digital cameras is of course, full color, so why would anyone choose another interpretation? The three main reasons why I occasionally use selective- or no color, are: 1: increased, more dramatic contrast, 2. another way to direct the viewer’s attention and 3. fewer distractions.

The first (better contrast) should be obvious enough: the “tonal” difference between dark and light regions of an image are easier to see and adjust than, say, the difference between red and green. This is especially so in the case of someone suffering from color blindness, or simply using an un-calibrated, or poorly calibrated monitor.

Likewise the use of selective color to direct viewer attention is a familiar practice in either still or cinematic imagery. The girl in the red coat, in “Schindler’s List” comes to mind.

The third reason (minimize distractions)… Well, let me put it this way: I have lost count of the many discussions, over the last ten years, on whether or not a sunset or sunrise was *really* that color. Such discussions effectively distract the viewers from enjoying the image for its own merits, and lead them into pointless, irrelevant, and un-resolvable, arguments about “truth” or “deception” in art.

This is hardly a new situation endemic to digital photography. Here is what Ansel Adams had to say about the same issue, in 1981: “The question of ‘true color’ arises in discussion of the comparative qualities of color film and prints. ‘True color’ is a fiction, a false assurance that the sky was ‘that shade of blue’ or this portrait shows ‘correct’ flesh colors and values.”

No such distractions or arguments in a black & white rendition, which is clearly an artistic interpretation of a colorful world.

Below are two versions of an image where I started with a color capture, then converted to black & white. Note the different mood conveyed by each version; hence the choice.

The main point here is that as digital artists-photographers we have a choice on how to render an image. We do not need to always accept the generic decisions engineered into our cameras.

The other day I heard again the oft-repeated quotation by sir Winston Churchill  “…democracy is the worst form of government…”   and for a moment I wondered, did he really say that? How could a leader of the democratic alliance that fought fascism not think much of Democracy? Well, reviewing his complete sentence helps clarify the message… “It has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all the others that have been tried.” Aha! Context communicates the intended message.

The same is true with the ‘message’ of every photograph.

The thought first occurred to me when I was exploring moon photography.  It seems every nature photographer goes through a moon phase. We see the full moon in its soft, warm glow and it brings back the unique memories and feelings we forever associate with it; the moments when the moon’s magical light rolled back the darkness and gave us a little more time to play. And we later try to recapture such feelings and memories with our cameras and post-processing tools. So… how are we doing in that regard? This is what usually happens:

Because modern technology makes it easy to “zoom in” to the moon with state-of-the-art optics, we often do just that, thinking that the closer and more accurate our picture, the more effective our story will be and the more of a connection we will make with the viewer. To our dismay we soon discover that after adjusting for exposure our best closeup shots produce images of the familiar, usually monochrome disk, pockmarked and cratered, complete with the semblance of “the man on the moon” and… nothing more.  “Our” moon, it tuns out, set in the darkness of outer space, looks… exactly like every other photographer’s moon. Literally… you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all, and after two or three iterations, it all becomes a humdrum encounter; another closeup of the  moon.

What’s wrong with that picture? In a word, context. To make a moon image stand out from the rest we don’t need a lot of detail, super magnification, or a scientifically accurate reproduction of hue, saturation and brightness  (can we compete with NASA in such things? ) rather we must pay special attention to context. The moon of art photography, unlike the moon of science, is about context; earth context that is, not the cold alien world of outer space but a frame made up of familiar elements from our home planet.

The darkness of space feels alien and uncomfortable to us. We all grew up in some part of this unique planet and usually see the moon framed by clouds, or trees, or mountains, as a backdrop illustration for mysterious wildlife silhouettes, or reflected upon still waters. Such are the right elements of context for the moon of art — the moon with which to communicate emotional realities with our viewers.

So let us not use technology to strip a subject from its appropriate context. Otherwise, as with the incomplete Churchill quotation, above, our audience could easily get the wrong message.

In our exchanges we typically use acoustic arrangements (spoken words), or visual representations, lines and shapes carved in stone, drawn on paper, or arranged in pixels on computer screens (what you are looking at, right now).  Our symbols may look like this, or   這 or   هذا or they may be far more complex and powerful photographic images.

The primary or literal meaning of symbols enables communication at the most basic level. But, depending on context, symbols understood “metaphorically,” can also convey far more complex and powerful ideas. Lines that spell C-A-T    (卡特彼勒, قط) could simply refer to the four-legged pet we are all familiar with. But if the context is… ancient Egypt, a pictograph of a cat could also (metaphorically) refer to grace and poise, or perhaps a goddess and the intangible concepts she might represent,  such as fertility and motherhood.

Metaphors are far more powerful and interesting than literal/factual accounts of reality. Metaphor is what makes fairy tales so captivating to all age groups. As G.K. Chesterton put it: “Fairy tales are more than true – not because they tell us dragons exist, but because they tell us dragons can be beaten.”

An image of a seagull isn’t necessarily always about the familiar sea bird. Seeing one that appears to be flying “for the fun of it,” could  raise metaphysical questions and suggest answers that resonate deep within our soul. “Jonathan Livingstone Seagull” a classic tale of my generation, wasn’t just about a bird that enjoyed flying for its own sake, it was a metaphor for non-conformism, self-actualization, and finding meaning in life.

So before attempting to develop an image I must first decide whether it is to communicate literal or metaphorical meaning.  Do I intend it to be like a newspaper report or more like a fairy tale?  This helps guide me on how to proceed –what elements to add or remove,  if any, and how to use light, composition, contrast, color and detail to tell my story.

E.g. here is an image and the thinking that went into making it…

What was I thinking…

“God rays” are always inspiring (why?),  and fog makes them more visible, so when I saw this forest scene I instantly recognized it as something special.  I also knew that the fog wouldn’t last long; I had to move fast.  So I shot a few frames bracketing for exposure and depth of field.

Looking at the camera screen I saw that I had captured a ‘nice’ image, technically flawless, but one that for some reason looked empty to me. I needed something more to move my story beyond the literal. I needed another symbol.

Thankfully that area is frequented by Herons, graceful large flyers gliding over water and tree, and often alighting on high branches from which to survey their domain. And as it happens, birds have long been considered symbols of spiritual realities; specifically “departed souls”.  Surely a Heron could carry my image to higher levels of consciousness…

…And that was the genesis of “Ascent to Light”

Not all that special as a simple Heron picture, but inspiring enough as a metaphor for Psyche rising to the Heavens, and to explain why this was one of my ten most popular images of 2011.

For more powerful images then, think metaphor; don’t be too quick to settle for the literal interpretations that come with the first capture of a scene.