Sorry there got to be so many redundant comments yesterday. I wasn't being particularly slow at my moderation duties—it's just that the comments came pouring in thick and fast after I wrote the post, and before I could get back to the computer and post some of them, to let people know the point had already been raised, there were 80 comments or so waiting for me.
I did take peoples' advice: I bought SanDisk's RescuePRO Deluxe software and I'm running it on the card. I don't think it will work, as I reformatted and overwrote the card several times in the course of my speed testing. But the program is currently saying it needs 801 minutes to continue the recovery process, and although this doesn't seem like it could be right, I'm going to let it run and see what happens. I'll let you know.
This past weekend (when it was still cold) we hiked a dramatic stony gorge to see a frozen waterfall. It's a public park so the path was broad and accomodating, but it was covered with snow and there weren't too many people—at least not enough to call them "crowds." Gorges can be wonderful because they shut out the surrounding civilization, which enhances the illusion of wilderness. The steep faces of the gorge where we were are microclimates—one side, which faces the southerly sun, is mostly covered with deciduous trees, and the other side, which lives mostly in shadow, is covered with evergreens. (We learned this from an informational plaque at trailside—another sign that it wasn't actually wilderness.) The old dead trees fall downhill and point downward toward the river.
The place is almost primevally beautiful, though, a great scar in the crust of the earth. Snow-shrouded wilderness has a hushed quietude that's both familiar and strange. Encircling you, the steep rock walls seem both protective and foreboding.
A high percentage of the people we encountered had cameras. Only one couple were using a cellphone, to take a selfie of themselves in front of the falls (most of which was encased in ice). The rest seemed to have what I (perhaps quaintly) call "real cameras," including people with big FF DSLRs, tripods, and equipment-filled backpacks.
We stopped to talk to one energetic middle-aged woman who talked voluably about the photographic opportunities available. She was very nice, super-friendly, but her appraisal of the gorge and its visual gifts was not complimentary. The light was too flat; the blue sky, rare enough in winter, was not blue enough; "you have to avoid the contrails"; there's not enough color in winter; and so on. I was struck by the extent to which she was experiencing the gorge in terms of the pictures she could get, and the place itself could either win approval or disapproval based on its yield, as a mining company might appraise a mine.
Scenic photography sometimes seems to me to refer to itself more than it does to the actual places photographed. It's almost like the places themselves are no longer experienced for what they are, but are reduced to their status as photo opportunities.
Of course the flip side of that coin is the way that practicing scenic photography can enhance our experience of land and landscape, and of the natural world, by sharpening our seeing and enhancing our powers of observation.
Don't impute any judgement to this statement, please, but I'm not a "scenic" photographer. I think the reason is because I'm almost always interested in the specific rather than the generic. There needs to be some kind of information in pictures to attract my interest. And then I want to know the significance of the information. So the world's prettiest picture of fall foliage doesn't do much for me if the meaning of the picture is merely "the colors of autumn leaves are beautiful." This impairs my enjoment of scenic photography—in scenic photography, information isn't the point, beauty is. If you're looking for meaning and informational content, a lot of scenic photography is inherently disappointing.
And the flip side of that is that many photographs that are overflowing with meaning and informational content aren't beautiful. So if if you come to those pictures mainly looking for beauty, you'll probably be disappointed.
There are two ways I learned I wasn't a scenic photographer. One is that scenes (and I do take scenics, of course—everybody does) mean much more to me if the place itself means something to me. The second is because the lack of integration between the experience of being in a dramatic place and seeing it diminished, flattened, and framed as a photograph is too great. (What I was talking about in the "Souvenir Sunset" post.)
The exception is when I'll never be able to see a place myself—an Alpine mountaintop, the surface of the moon, a deep cave, a "hot" military action—then, a photograph is a great aid to the imagination.
The most superficial disappointment for me when I look at scenic photography is that I find myself always wanting to know where it was taken, so I can add to my store of knowledge about the visual world. I want to know what I'm looking at. I usually want to know the who-what-when-where-why-how—whereas the scenic photographer is trying to show you the timeless, the classic, the Universalized (which is a more positive way of saying generic, generalized, imprecise). You probably share this need if you've read up to this point in this post and you're feeling frustrated wondering which gorge, where?!?
So I'm off the hook in places like the gorge. I took a bunch of pictures but I'm not after scenics, so I'm free to experience the place without concerning myself about the contrails in the insufficiently-blue sky. I'm in pure tourist mode, taking a few snaps as mementos.
It's places like that when I do kinda wish I were a scenic photographer, though. It really was beautiful. I'm sure there are ways to capture its grandeur and wonder that are beyond me.
Mike
(Thanks to S.)
Original contents copyright 2015 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:
No featured comments yet—please check back soon!
