DRIBS & DRABS
By MICHAEL PERKINS
PHOTOGRAPHIC COMPOSITION IS A CONSTANT YIN-YANG OF ADDITION AND SUBTRACTION, an ongoing argument over what, indeed, is essential for the narrative of an image. Sometimes, as in the case of a vast, sprawling vista, wide and inclusive is the best choice. Under other circumstances, huge chunks of that same vista can be sliced away to amplify the importance of some smaller thing happening in the larger panorama. Most of us do this either-oring almost without thinking, often trusting our first instinct on what should be included or excluded in a particular case. And sometimes, the answer to the question “how much info is enough?” comes to us later, upon repeated reviews of pictures we thought were, well, perfect.
I love shooting huge subjects as wide as I can, but, upon review, I find that they speak more persuasively if I judiciously remove areas that, on first look, can seem essential. But essential for what? In trying to tell a story, you can either immerse yourself in rich detail or try to suggest more by showing less, or, more precisely, in telling as much story with the simplest visual cues you can.
The shot you see here was taken on a beach in San Simeon, California. It is a protected refuge for baby elephant seals, who crawl on the sand and help themself to the healing combo of sunshine and sleep. They crowd the sands by the hundreds, much to the delight of passerby who often travel hundreds of miles just to watch the oversized infants chill out. I have plenty of pictures of this scene that take in the entire beach, focus on a sea of whiskery, sandy snouts, or show the seals in the context of the surrounding coastline.
But here, I just wanted a tight shot of one seal’s limp flipper, no more, no less. It’s an exercise in seeing if I can suggest all that bigger stuff I just mentioned in something close at hand. In fact, the shot you see here is a crop of a crop of a crop, as I kept paring away any dribs and drabs that could compromise the one, single thought that I wanted to convey. It’s also a reminder (one that I need on a regular basis) that the best stories are often the simplest. Sometimes, they happen in a vast forest. And sometimes they are seen in the veins of a single leaf.
PIER GROUPS
By MICHAEL PERKINS
CIRCUSES ARE GONE. Carnivals are on life support. In most towns, there’s not a Chautauqua tent or traveling acting troupe to be had for love or money. Eccentricity, the wild, sharp-edged, warped neighborhood between Normalcy and Madness that used to be a part of every town the whole world ’round, appears to be shuttering. But there are still a few enclaves of the weird to be had, and celebrated. And pictures to be made of what remains.
To paraphrase Bogart, we’ll always have beach towns.
Strange little encampments near the water’s edge that are both the last chance for humans before the open sea and a natural collection point for a slew of strange energies, from craftsmen to shopkeepers to fishermen to tourists….a grand collision of urges and callings that celebrates the odd, the original and the openly quirky. Life is measured differently near the ocean. The smells and color schemes are different. The architecture is chockablock, random and loud. And the folk are charting their own course.
In such venues, you might encounter the Violin Lady, in her pert hat, her lacy blouse, and her concert-plus-art-sale gig on nearly any block. Further in from the coast, the forces of order have issued enough cautious ordinances to muffle all the lovely madness of her kind, whereas, in towns like Seal Beach, California, she’s just one more cast member. And, lest you believe that she’s “selling out” by peddling her paintings for profit, bear in mind that she’s also revealing Real Truth about “My UFO Encounter”, which makes the entire enterprise a public service, really.
Use your camera to celebrate the unique. It’s always in danger of being smothered beneath a blanket of respectability, a quality which might be morally admirable but is, sadly, pictorially stagnant. If weird is in short supply in your town, head for the beaches, and you’ll get it all back. And then some.
thenormaleye 