Part 2 Reflection

Working through Part 2 and Assignment 2 has helped me push my technical skills further, especially with using perspective, line, and compositional techniques in my photography. I’ve started noticing how small choices like the angle I shoot from, or the way light hitting the ground can completely change the feeling of an image.

One of the big takeaways from my tutor’s feedback was the encouragement to keep applying these techniques across different subjects, locations, and lighting conditions. As I keep practicing, I can already feel myself becoming more aware behind the camera. I’m realising that it’s not just about taking a “good” photo but about understanding what the environment gives me each time I go out to shoot. Weather, time of day, even the mood I’m in, all these things affect the image.

The reflection around the roads appearing in my final set of eight images was interesting to think about. Five out of the eight photos include the curve of a road, creating strong leading lines and offering a real sense of the ground beneath our feet. I hadn’t fully noticed this pattern when selecting them, but looking back, it feels very connected to the act of walking and moving through the landscape, which was a subconscious part of this project. It’s something I want to be more deliberate about in future assignments: reflecting on the balance of recurring elements in a set and making sure they support the story I’m telling, rather than feeling repetitive.

The feedback also pointed out the importance of visually evidencing my process more clearly through showing contact sheets, thumbnail selections, and reflections on my planning stages. I can see how this will help me deepen my creative process, by not just choosing my final images instinctively, but understanding and explaining why I’m drawn to certain frames over others. It’s about documenting the thinking behind the choices as much as the choices themselves.

Research has been another important area of focus. The advice to look at photographers whose work connects to my own ideas has opened up new possibilities. Exploring the work of Charlie Waite, Richard Long, and Matthew Chase-Daniel has already shown me how different approaches to landscape can influence not just technique, but the meaning behind an image. Including this kind of research alongside my own practice will help me build a stronger critical and contextual base for my projects. It also feels exciting to know that I can borrow methods, styles, and ways of seeing from a wide range of artists and mould them into something that feels like my own voice.

Overall, Part 2 has been a chance to slow down, look more carefully, and start layering more thought into every stage of the photographic process. I’m looking forward to planning more intentional shoots, experimenting with different locations and lighting, and paying attention to both the grand views and the tiny details under my feet.

This reflection marks an important point for me. Moving from simply capturing moments to consciously creating a body of work, built on technique, thought, and personal interpretation.

Assignment 5 – Photography is Simple

For Assignment Five, I was asked to explore the idea that “Photography is Simple” by creating a series of ten images. The focus was on capturing a unique viewpoint and moment in each photograph, without repeating information.

I chose to focus on three interconnected themes: everyday small moments, walks through the neighbourhood, and people’s movements. These subjects naturally resonated with me and felt like an authentic extension of how I see the world through my camera. My goal was to stay present and observant, capturing moments that might otherwise go unnoticed.

I took my camera on slow, mindful walks through my neighbourhood, paying attention to the familiar and the ordinary: small objects, passing strangers, shifting light. I concentrated on my viewpoint (where I stood) and waited for the right moment to release the shutter. Sometimes it was a fleeting glance, a passing movement, or the way a shadow stretched across the pavement. I kept my approach simple, trusting my instincts and allowing the subject to reveal itself without staging or interference.

In the first part of my series, I captured everyday small moments. I photographed reflections in water, shadows cast across surfaces, and a can of drink left on a bench. These images represent the unnoticed poetry of the ordinary, details that exist briefly before changing or being forgotten. They demonstrate how photography can transform passing fragments of life into subjects’ worth attention.

The second group of photographs came from walks through my neighbourhood. I looked for visual contrasts and textures like fallen brown leaves nestled among bright green foliage, cracks in the pavement and the intricate pattern of tree branches viewed from below. In these images, I aimed to show how familiar spaces can tell new stories when we change our perspective. By paying attention to detail, I simplified the chaos of the world into small, composed frames.

The third part of the series focused on people’s movements. I experimented with shutter speed to reflect the motion of cars passing, people walking crisply frozen with a fast shutter, and a person lying still on the grass. These images were about capturing human presence and rhythm, both movement and stillness.

My final image was of a group of men playing basketball, captured at the decisive moment just as one of them took a shot. Although there are distractions in the background, I believe the energy of the scene comes through. The photograph might not be compositionally perfect, but it captures a real, vibrant moment, which, to me, aligns perfectly with the idea that photography is about “where to stand and when to press the shutter.”

After completing the series, I reconsidered the idea that photography is simple. As Tor Burridge notes, when photographing purely for enjoyment, it does feel simple. But underneath that simplicity are many layers: my understanding of light and composition, the technical knowledge of my camera, and the subtle influence of photographers whose work has shaped my eye.

I was particularly inspired by Miho Kajioka’s reflections on beauty in fleeting moments, and Michele Groskopf’s statement that photography teaches us about ourselves. What we notice, what we’re drawn to, what we value.

This project reminded me that while photography can be as simple as being in the right place at the right time, the emotional connection and deeper intention behind each image add a rich layer of complexity.

Artist Statement

Photography, at its core, is about the moment. A fleeting instant that captures more than just a scene. It holds emotion, atmosphere, and the often unnoticed beauty of the everyday.

For this series, I focused on simple, spontaneous moments: quiet details observed on walks through my neighbourhood and brief encounters with people in motion. These subjects felt natural and intuitive to photograph.

Rather than forcing a narrative, I embraced presence and spontaneity, allowing the images to emerge as I wandered. I paid close attention to my viewpoint and the timing of the shutter, capturing moments that may seem mundane, but carry quiet significance when viewed closely. Each photograph is an attempt to find beauty in the ordinary, to tell a story of a moment that might otherwise slip by unnoticed.

This series reflects my belief that photography is, in its simplest form, about being in the right place at the right time. But beyond that, it’s also about noticing, feeling, and connecting with the world in meaningful ways. As I progressed through this assignment, I realized that photography is simple, until it isn’t. Until you see how your choices in framing, light, and timing are shaped by personal experience, emotion, and influence.

In a world of constant distraction, these photographs offer a quiet invitation to pause, reflect, and rediscover beauty in what’s already there.

Bibliography

Burridge, T. 2021. Photography is Simple. [online] Falmouth Flexible. At: https://flex.falmouth.ac.uk/courses/3432/pages/photography-is-simple?module_item_id=651479 [accessed 29/4/2025].

Groskopf, M. 2016. The Photography of Everyday Life. [online] American Suburb X. At: https://americansuburbx.com/2016/06/michelle-groskopf-the-photography-of-everyday-life.html [accessed 29/4/2025].

Kajioka, M. 2022. Miho Kajioka Interview. [online] Urbanautica. At: https://urbanautica.com/post/miho-kajioka-interview [accessed 29/4/2025].

Contact Sheet

5.3 – Looking at Photography

When I think about ‘Behind the Gare Saint-Lazare’, the “point” my eye always comes back to is the small, delicate space between the man’s foot and the reflection in the puddle. It’s not so much the man or the water that grabs me, but that tiny breath of air, the pause right before impact. It’s a space full of tension, possibility, and mystery.

Inspired by that idea, I created my own photograph of a droplet of water suspended under a tap just before it falls. The most important “point” isn’t the water itself; it’s the fragile space around it. The invisible pause between one moment and the next.

The information these “points” hold isn’t about objects, but about potential. The water droplet clings to the tap, impossibly heavy and light at once, moments from surrender. In these tiny gaps, time feels like it folds in on itself, like the future has paused to take a breath.

This echoes what Flusser and Berger talk about. Photographs capturing an eternal return, a circle rather than a straight line. Just like Cartier-Bresson’s puddle moment, my droplet image isn’t about action, it’s about almost action. That hypnotic, magical hesitation. Every time I look at it, I fall back into that stillness. Photography isn’t just recording what happened. It’s creating a space where something might happen.

I captured four different shots that, while visually similar, each hold their own subtle differences. Two images show the water just as it detaches and falls, leaving behind a delicate trail, almost like a thread pulling the drop back toward its source. The other two freeze the moment just before release, when the droplet clings stubbornly to the tap, swollen with tension.

What I found most fascinating was how such a small, everyday event could carry so much emotion when frozen in time. The images don’t just record what happened; they hold the feeling of waiting, of something inevitable about to occur. Even though the photos are quiet and simple, there’s a lot of invisible energy inside them.

Seeing them side by side made me appreciate how photography can turn even the tiniest shift like a wobble, a stretch, or a fall, into something worth noticing. Each frame feels like it holds its own tiny, suspended world. The experiment made me much more aware of the power of timing, and how the smallest moments can create a lasting visual impact.

5.2 – Homage

Over the past few years, I’ve taken countless selfies with my phone if I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a car window or a mirror at the gym. Quick snapshots to capture a mood, a memory, or just a fleeting moment. But recently, I started thinking about these casual selfies in a deeper way. Could they be more than just quick captures? Could they be intentional self-portraits?

While reflecting on this, I found myself drawn to the work of Vivian Maier. A photographer who often turned the lens on herself yet rarely made herself the center of attention. Her self-portraits are clever, hidden, playful, and beautifully composed. She captured herself through reflections, shadows, and glass, blending into the world around her without ever fully revealing herself. Something about her quiet observation felt deeply familiar. Even though we come from completely different eras, I felt a connection, the same impulse to document, to appear and disappear at the same time.

This project really made me slow down and think about the way I take self-portraits.
Instead of quickly snapping a selfie with my phone, I had to be more deliberate, noticing reflections, framing my shadow, and thinking about how to appear in the image without making myself the main subject.

The first two images I captured were of my shadow while sitting on a bench.
In the first one, the frame is zoomed in quite tightly, almost giving the impression that it was intentional and staged. In the second, I zoomed out, letting the whole path and even a bit of the road into the shot. It felt much more natural, and I liked how it gave more context to the scene.

The next two images were attempts to capture my reflection in a window. I tried different angles, and both were interesting in their own way. At first glance, they just look like photos of some plain glass doors, but if you look a little closer, you can spot my reflection tucked inside the frame. It reminded me of how Vivian Maier often played with visibility, being there but not immediately obvious.

For the final three images, I continued exploring reflections. The first of these three shows me reflected clearly in a shop window, where I also noticed a mirror in the background. I tried to line up the shot so you could see two reflections of me at once, but it didn’t quite work how I imagined. The second was a reflection of just my feet, again more obvious, but still grounded in the textures of the scene around me. The last photo was taken quickly in a charity shop changing room mirror, a fleeting glimpse of myself caught unexpectedly, almost like an accident, but it ended up feeling very true to the spirit of the project.

Overall, this homage to Vivian Maier taught me that self-portraits don’t have to be about posing or being the center of attention. They can be about being part of the environment, half-hidden, half-seen, a quiet observer, even in our own stories.

According to Terry Barrett’s framework, the context for this project is largely internal, meaning the images speak through their style, composition, and emotional tone. It’s about creating a visual homage, not an exact copy, and letting my own personal connection to the subject shine through.

Maier, V. Self-Portraits. At: https://www.vivianmaier.com/gallery/self-portraits/ [accessed 27/4/2025]

5.1 – Distance Between Us

For this exercise, I chose my dog as the subject. Someone I share everyday closeness with, but who also moves in and out of connection depending on mood, environment, and attention. Using my camera as a measuring device, I wanted to explore not just the physical space between us, but the emotional shifts that occur as that space changes.

I began by photographing him indoors while he was sleeping. I kept quiet and respectful, moving slowly as I took each frame. The first images were taken from across the room, with his body curled up and relaxed, unaware of my presence. As I crept closer, I captured the gradual awareness building in him, a twitch of the ear, a shift of his body, and finally, direct eye contact with the lens. That moment of eye contact felt like a bridge being built, the space between us closing not just in proximity, but in presence.

Later, I took the camera outside as he wandered freely, nose to the ground, totally absorbed in the world of smells. At first, I hung back and simply observed, capturing his movements from afar. Then came the shift: he noticed me. In an instant, he broke into a joyful run towards me, tail wagging and barking, full of playful energy. I kept shooting as he circled around me, as if inviting me into the game. The photos became chaotic, slightly blurred and full of motion. The camera now recording not distance, but the collapse of it.

My favourite image comes from the first sequence. It’s the frame where he’s just woken, still resting, but looking directly into the camera. There’s a quiet connection there. He’s not performing, not reacting, just being, and meeting me in that moment.

This exercise made me aware of how photography can document not only presence but the relationship. The distance between a photographer and their subject isn’t just spatial. It can be emotional, energetic, even ethical.

The two sequences revealed different sides of our connection. One tender, still and slow, The other wild, energetic and playful. It also reminded me to look beyond the shot I planned and stay open to what the image reveals. The movement, the blur, the unexpected expressions. They all became part of the story. As Alexia Clorinda suggests, I included what I didn’t mean to do, and it made the work more honest.

Contact Sheet

Assignment 4 – Languages of Light

For this assignment, I revisited the theme of artificial light, using my local environment in Woodend as my subject. I’ve always been drawn to the dark, moody aesthetics created by ambient lighting and neon signs, particularly at night when artificial lights stand out more vividly. This fascination became the foundation for my project, where I explored the relationship between light, space, and atmosphere. I wanted to show how everyday spaces, when lit in certain ways, could evoke feelings of isolation, nostalgia, or quiet beauty.

Developing the original exercise from Part 4 into a full assignment helped me move beyond simply documenting artificial light. Instead, I used light as an emotional device, crafting scenes that felt cinematic rather than purely observational. I had to adapt quickly when unexpected rain began falling, but I embraced it, allowing reflections and wet surfaces to amplify the atmosphere I was trying to capture. This challenged me to be more resourceful and observant, pushing my creative thinking further.

My work was strongly influenced by several practitioners. Todd Hido’s House Hunting series had a major impact on my approach. His images of suburban homes at night, often softly glowing in otherwise dark landscapes, capture an emotional stillness I wanted to reflect in my own photographs. His use of light to isolate subjects and create atmosphere informed many of my compositional choices.

Alongside Hido, Edward Hopper’s paintings, especially his night scenes of diners and gas stations, also shaped my thinking. Hopper’s work evokes solitude through light, space, and the way figures, or their absence, are framed within settings. I aimed to recreate a similar quiet tension without relying on obvious narratives.

The staged, cinematic lighting in Gregory Crewdson’s work also provided some visual inspiration. It reminded me to be deliberate about how artificial light defines mood, even though my approach was far less staged.

Finally, Sinziana Velicescu’s minimalist cityscapes and use of car light trails inspired me to experiment with movement and reflections, seeking beauty in otherwise overlooked urban scenes.

Technically, I shot using manual settings to manage the challenging lighting conditions. I kept ISO on auto to focus on aperture and shutter speed adjustments. I opened the aperture between f/4.5 and f/8 to gather more light, depending on the available illumination. For scenes involving light trails or very dark environments, I used slower shutter speeds, between two and five seconds, to allow movement to blur into glowing streaks. Without a tripod, I stabilized the camera on railings, car roofs, or handheld the shots as steadily as possible. As a result, some natural motion blur appeared in a few images, but rather than detracting from the work, I believe it contributed to the ethereal, cinematic quality I was aiming for.

The final series includes ten images. Rain falling on a car window at traffic lights created dreamy, abstract colors. A light trail shot captured movement across the street corner. A house porch illuminated by an outdoor light yielded a slightly blurred but ghostly image, enhancing the feeling of otherworldliness. Other photographs included a car and garage lit starkly by a single bulb, a train pausing at a wet, reflective platform, and the local pub corner shimmering with neon green light and fairy lights. I also photographed a warmly lit shopfront, a solitary neon sign in a window, and water droplets on my car window to conclude the sequence.

In assessing my work, I believe the strongest aspect is how the rain unified the images, adding consistent texture, mood, and reflection across the series. The contrast between the dynamic light trails and the stillness of other scenes created a strong visual rhythm. I am particularly happy with how composition and reflections helped build depth and layering within the frames, often leading the viewer’s eye naturally through the scene.

The main weaknesses stem from the technical limitations of not having a tripod. Some images, like the porch scene, contain more blur than I intended. However, upon reflection, these imperfections contribute to the dreamlike atmosphere I sought. In a few cases, framing could have been wider to create more breathing room around the subjects. Some compositions feel a little too tight, slightly disconnecting the scene from its environment. In hindsight, varying focal lengths more might have improved the sense of space and enhanced the cinematic quality I wanted.

Overall, I feel this project successfully captures the intimate, often overlooked relationship between artificial light and everyday spaces in Woodend. By focusing on small moments—the glow of a streetlamp, reflections on wet pavement, or the neon flicker of a pub sign, I aimed to transform ordinary settings into something emotionally resonant. I also feel I met the criteria for Creativity by adapting to conditions, experimenting with light and movement, and developing a personal, imaginative response to the brief. This assignment helped build my confidence in crafting atmosphere through photography and deepened my connection to the subjects I photograph.

Bibliography

Hido, T. House Hunting. At: http://www.toddhido.com/househunting.html [accessed 27/4/2025]

Crewdson, G. Gagosian Gallery. At: https://gagosian.com/artists/gregory-crewdson/ [accessed 27/4/2025]

Hopper, E. Edward Hopper – Official Website. At: https://www.edwardhopper.net/ [accessed 27/4/2025]

Velicescu, S. Exteriors – Commercial Architecture. At: https://www.sinzianavelicescu.com/commercial-architecture/exteriors [accessed 27/4/2025]

Contact Sheet

4.4 – Personal Voice

When I started Exercise 4.4, I searched “banana” on Google Images expecting randomness. What I actually found was a grid of bright yellow bananas on plain backgrounds, stock-photo style. It felt clinical, repetitive, and far from creative. Each image more or less a carbon copy of the one beside it. They all conformed to an idea of what a banana should look like: unbruised, isolated, centered, glowing. That sameness is exactly what I wanted to challenge.

Rather than take a perfect banana portrait, I explored ways to make this everyday object feel unfamiliar, funny, dramatic, or even uncomfortable. I shot the banana as a bruised imperfect body; as a lonely figure abandoned in a jar; as a factory item in a lineup; as something absurdly human sunbathing outside.

Each image played with a different approach to creativity:

Personal Response: I used humour and mood like sunbathing bananas or forgotten ones in cupboards, to add character.
Experimentation: I shot from above, close-up, and through glass. I used backlighting, natural shadows, and edited in both black and white and colour.
Challenging Conventions: Where Google showed bananas in idealised, smooth forms, I focused on imperfections like bruises, soft spots, and places they don’t belong.

I thought about Bill Brandt’s idea of photographing what the camera sees rather than what we expect to see. Some of my close-ups revealed textures and patterns I wouldn’t normally notice. In another way, I tried Ernst Haas’ method. Looking at the banana long enough until it became something new, until I could re-see it with curiosity.

The sunbathing banana was my favourite. There’s something ridiculous and charming about a banana lying in the sunlight like it’s on holiday. It’s a quiet scene, but it made me laugh and that felt important. The pose, the light, and the absurdity gave it a kind of personality.

To edit it, I warmed the tones to enhance the afternoon sunlight and added contrast to exaggerate the shadow. I left a bit of space around it to make it feel like a tiny beach scene. It’s familiar, but not. That tension between ordinary and strange felt creative to me.

Each image aimed to say something slightly different, either through lighting, setting, or framing. Some made the banana feel incidental. Others made it the star. I used natural light and shadows, tight crops, and varied angles to find unusual perspectives.

This exercise made me realise how easy it is to fall into expected ways of photographing something. But it also showed me how much fun it can be to play with those expectations. Instead of aiming for a perfect product shot, I looked for emotion, humour, and story. Even in a single piece of fruit.

It reminded me that creativity often comes from how you see, not what you see. And it helped me move a little closer to developing my own voice, even if that voice (for now) is a bit banana-shaped.

Assignment 3 – The (In)decisive Moment

For this assignment, I wanted to explore the photographic concept of the decisive moment. A term famously associated with Henri Cartier-Bresson, while also reflecting on the opposite: the quiet, unresolved indecisive moment. Both ideas fascinated me, especially as I noticed that the world around me is constantly moving, yet most human behavior falls somewhere between pause and flow. By observing people in public spaces, I became aware of just how many seemingly uneventful moments can hold visual tension and emotion.

My photographic series was captured around Melbourne, specifically near the waterfront, parks, and urban streets. I allowed myself to photograph whatever naturally unfolded rather than wait too long for the “perfect” moment. This approach allowed me to observe how the two themes emerged organically in the everyday.

Decisive Moments:

I define a decisive moment as that instant when all elements in a scene such as light, shape, subject, and background, align to create a visually complete and emotionally satisfying image. These images don’t require explanation; their strength lies in the clarity of the moment.

One example is a photo of a couple sitting on a bench as the world moves past behind them. Their stillness creates a powerful contrast against the life flowing around them. Similarly, another couple sat on the grass nearby, absorbed in their own world, creating an intimate moment that felt timeless even in a busy setting. A third example captured a man raising his camera to photograph the Melbourne skyline. A split-second alignment of human intention and environmental beauty.

Indecisive Moments:

The indecisive moments in this series focus on the unspectacular but quietly telling in-between states. These are fragments of time where the narrative feels incomplete or paused, inviting curiosity.

One image shows a woman stopping mid-walk to check her phone. Her stillness hints at disconnection from her surroundings, almost as if the world kept moving while she stood still. Another photograph shows people waiting at a crossing, their postures loaded with anticipation. Finally, a family captured just before climbing into a minivan reflects a similar idea: the moment before action, where energy is held rather than released.

Perhaps the most compelling example of this theme came about unintentionally. As I descended an escalator onto a train platform, I captured people waiting for the train below. The resulting image had a grainy texture, partly due to the lighting conditions and motion, which echoed the aesthetic of a film camera. The grain, combined with the quiet, anticipatory scene, enhanced the sense of suspended time.

Reflection:

Throughout this assignment, I was reminded of Alberto Giacometti’s insights on the conflict between seeing the whole and focusing on detail. Despite Giacometti being a masterful draughtsman, he found it almost impossible to concentrate on the entire figure without losing sight of its individual parts and vice versa. He learned that rather than forcing concentration, the answer was to allow the eye and brain to flow naturally between the two. I felt a similar shift when photographing this series. The most successful moments came when I stopped trying to “control” the scene and allowed instinct to guide me.

Photographically, this project has taught me that both decisive and indecisive moments hold value, and both require patience and observation to capture. The key isn’t always about seizing action, but rather recognizing when a composition, whether resolved or suspended, can hold emotional or visual interest.

This assignment allowed me to reflect on the everyday with a new eye, noticing patterns and pauses I’d usually overlook. By embracing both sides of the moment, I feel my understanding of photographic timing and visual storytelling has deepened.

Influences

Henri Cartier-Bresson — The Decisive Moment
Alberto Giacometti — on perception and the relationship between part and whole
Ruth Bernhard — “If you are not willing to see more than is visible, you won’t see anything.”
Street photographers such as Joel Meyerowitz and Matt Stuart, who celebrate both the unexpected and the understated in public scenes.

Bibliography

Cartier-Bresson, H. (1952). The Decisive Moment. New York: Simon and Schuster.

Lord, J. (1965). Giacometti: A Biography. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

Meyerowitz, J. (n.d.). Joel Meyerowitz. [online] At: https://www.joelmeyerowitz.com/ [accessed 12/04/25].

Stuart, M. (n.d.). Matt Stuart Photography. [online] At: https://www.mattstuart.com/ [accessed 12/04/25].

3.3 – What Matters is to Look

For this exercise, I visited Point Ormond Viewpoint in Melbourne, a location that offers a wide panoramic view overlooking the bay and the city skyline. I chose it because of the distinct layers it presented, from the foreground right through to the horizon, making it ideal for practicing the act of seeing as described in the brief.

I started by observing the foreground, where a man stood next to his bike, enjoying the view. He was positioned slightly off-centre, adding an organic touch of life and movement to the scene. His presence grounded the composition and gave me an immediate focal point to work from.

Next, I looked at the middle ground. A paved path stretched into the distance, acting as a strong leading line that disappeared into the trees. It guided my eye toward the rest of the scene and created a natural flow through the composition. I noticed how the line of the path created a rhythm, like a visual bridge between the man and the faraway city.

Then my focus reached the background, where the Melbourne city skyline came into view. The skyscrapers stood tall on the horizon, slightly hazy from the sun, but still sharp enough to create a beautiful contrast against the soft blue sky. This layer gave the image its sense of depth and scale. A reminder of the relationship between nature and the built environment.

Finally, I looked up to the sky, a brilliant blue canvas with the sun glistening off the water below. The light bouncing off the bay added a sense of calm and clarity, tying the whole scene together in a wash of warmth and brightness.

Once I felt that I could see everything all together as a single unified view rather than in isolated parts, I raised my camera and took the photo. It was surprisingly difficult to maintain awareness of the whole scene at once. My eyes kept wanting to jump to individual elements, but I found that softening my gaze helped me hold the entire picture in my mind. It became less about focusing and more about being open to everything at once.

This exercise reminded me how easily we miss the bigger picture when we get caught up in details. It also echoed Giacometti’s challenge where he struggled with capturing both the whole figure and its details simultaneously. The photograph I captured is simple, but to me it holds the balance between stillness and movement, closeness and distance, man and city.

It was a powerful reminder that what matters is to look, really look, and to trust that the act of seeing itself is just as important as the shot you take.

Contact Sheet

Photographers

I looked into the methods used by the photographers that are mentioned in the course brief, and I found several reoccurring themes that I will explain at the end.

Wim Wenders:

Wenders highlights the power of focus in guiding the viewer’s gaze, suggesting that the choice of where to direct attention within a frame is a significant decision. He remarks, “The most political decision you make is where you direct people’s eyes.” – Wim Wenders (1997) quoted in Broomberg & Chanarin, 2008

This quote from Wim Wenders highlights the power of directing the viewer’s gaze, which is a significant aspect of using depth of field in photography. The choice of focus (shallow or deep) can subtly influence how a photograph is read, much like how a director in cinema uses focus to guide the audience’s attention.

Andre Bazin:

Bazin discusses how deep focus cinematography allows viewers the freedom to choose where to direct their attention within a scene, promoting a more personal engagement with the visual narrative. He notes, “Deep focus gives the eye autonomy to roam over the picture space so that the viewer is at least given the opportunity to edit the scene himself.” – Bazin (1948) quoted in Thompson & Bordwell, 2007

Ansel Adams:

Adam and his contemporaries championed the use of small apertures to achieve sharpness throughout the image, aligning with their belief in photography’s independence from traditional art conventions. They viewed this approach as a means to “remain independent of ideological conventions of art and aesthetics that are reminiscent of a period and culture antedating the growth of the medium itself.” – F64 Group Manifesto, 1932

Fay Godwin:

Fay Godwin, a British landscape photographer, also used depth of field as a political tool. Her photobook Our Forbidden Land (1990) used deep focus to convey the expansive but restricted nature of the countryside in Britain. This visual technique helped to communicate the message of restricted access to nature, which played a part in changing laws governing public access to the countryside in Britain.

Gianluca Cosci:

Cosci’s use of shallow depth of field in his series Panem et Circenses employs selective focus to comment on corporate influence in urban environments, using “slivers of sharpness” to represent the impact of corporate power on public spaces.

Mona Kuhn:

Mona Kuhn’s Evidence series is a profound exploration of the human form, capturing both young and old subjects in intimate, sensual compositions. Her photographs present individuals who are nude yet not naked; they appear completely relaxed, as if their own skin offers the utmost comfort. Kuhn’s unique style combines sharply rendered portraits with blurred backgrounds, guiding the viewer’s eye and stimulating the imagination.

Over eight years, Kuhn photographed friends and family in Southwest France, creating images that balance light and shadow, gestures, and gazes. The accompanying publication begins with the statement: “The most immediate form of evidence available to an individual is the observations of that person’s own senses.”

In her portrayal, Kuhn emphasizes the natural essence of her subjects, inviting viewers to engage with the images on a sensory level. This approach aligns with the notion that photographs can adapt to various interpretations based on context and presentation, a concept that will be further explored later in the course.

Kim Kirkpatrick:

Kirkpatrick utilizes a restricted depth of field to direct the viewer’s attention to specific details within his compositions. This technique not only highlights particular elements but also adds an abstract quality to the images, encouraging viewers to engage more deeply with the scene.

Kirkpatrick’s photography has been exhibited in various prestigious venues, including the Strathmore Hall Arts Center and the Maryland Art Place. His work has been recognized for its sensitivity to light and color, with gallery owner Sally Troyer remarking, “I have never seen work so sensitive to light and color.”

Guy Bourdin:

Bourdin’s application of deep focus allowed every element within his frames to be sharply defined, compelling viewers to engage with the entire composition rather than focusing on a singular subject. This technique, combined with his strategic placement of models and objects, often elicited feelings of unease and contemplation. As noted in his work, “he created images laced with undertones of psychological tension.”

Bourdin’s photographs often subverted traditional narratives by presenting models in provocative poses within unsettling environments. This approach not only challenged conventional notions of beauty and fashion but also invited viewers to explore deeper psychological themes. His work, as described in a Phaidon article, “put shock, suspense, and surrealism into fashion photography.”

Common Themes:

Across these photographers, depth of field is used deliberately to guide the viewer’s attention, whether through selective focus on specific details or deep focus that keeps the entire frame sharp. This technique influences how the viewer experiences the image, adding emotional or intellectual depth.

Many of these artists also use their work to comment on societal issues, aiming to provoke thought and sometimes inspire change. For instance, Mona Kuhn’s intimate portrayals of the human body and Fay Godwin’s expansive landscapes touch on themes like identity, vulnerability, and our relationship with nature, offering reflections on complex topics.

From Kuhn’s intimate portraits to Godwin’s landscapes, there is a shared interest in exploring the human experience, both literally and symbolically. These photographers capture not only their subjects but also broader themes about society and the environment, using photography as a tool for both artistic expression and social commentary.

Ultimately, these insights show that photography is not just about capturing the world but also about engaging with audiences through deep, thoughtful narratives. By combining technical skill with thematic depth, these photographers use their work to provoke, question, and communicate complex ideas.

Exploring Aesthetic Codes

For this exercise, I selected a photo from my archive featuring a single boat floating on a calm, blue sea beneath a bright, blue sky. The image is sharp throughout, capturing the natural tones and textures of the scene with clarity. I’ve titled it Clear as Day, a name that reflects both the weather conditions and the clean, unfussy composition.

This photo aligns with the Straight Photography aesthetic code, which emphasizes accurate, detailed representation. There’s no soft focus or dramatic manipulation—just a real moment, crisply observed. The depth of field allows everything in frame to be seen clearly, inviting the viewer to appreciate the simplicity and peacefulness of the scene.

Although I didn’t take this image with a particular aesthetic in mind at the time, revisiting it through this lens has helped me understand how technical choices like aperture and depth of field contribute to the overall feel and message of a photo. It’s a gentle reminder of how even a straightforward shot can be rich in visual meaning.

Bibliography

Evidence – Mona Kuhn (2007). At: https://steidl.de/Buecher/Evidence-0020293453.html [accessed 21/03/2025]

Mona Kuhn | Works (2007). At: https://www.flowersgallery.com/exhibitions/515-mona-kuhn-works/ [accessed 21/03/2025]

Wikipedia (2024) Kim Kirkpatrick. At: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kim_Kirkpatrick [accessed 21/03/2025]

Guy Bourdin (2018). At: https://eledhwen.blog/guy-bourdin/ [accessed 21/03/2025]

Phaidon (2014) How Man Ray helped Guy Bourdin put shock, suspense and surrealism into fashion photography | Photography | Agenda | Phaidon. At: https://www.phaidon.com/agenda/photography/articles/2014/august/12/how-man-ray-helped-guy-bourdin-put-shock-suspense-and-surrealism-into-fashion-photography/ [accessed 21/03/2025]