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I heard numerous times in photo school students say something along the lines of “I photograph to remember.” I think that is an admirable thing to say, but for me it is probably one of the most difficult things to do.

I have been trying to read some of the accounts at The Photographs Not Taken, and while I have not yet gotten through all of them, the one’s I have read seem to focus on memory (which I guess it the point). Try as I might, I cannot actually get a true sense of the photograph that the person didn’t make. Instead I get an understanding of the moment and the memory. This is not a criticism of the entries or the project at all, but rather an observation and starting point for this blog entry.

I have tried and failed at attempting to photograph for memory. Yes, I have taken family snap shots, and even made some more serious photographic attempts to remember. I have often found that when attempting to photograph to remember the camera or the very act of photographing gets in the way of the first hand experience. What I read that was so interesting at The Photographs Not Taken was a fantastic sense of the moment.

As humans, we seem to have fairly good memories. I can remember in vivid detail very specific moments from my childhood, but I cannot describe it like I would if I was looking at a photograph. My memory seems to sharpen itself when I talk with family and friends about shared memories, suddenly things become clearer. What I am trying to say is, that while photographs can help us remember they are not the same as the memories themselves. And remembering missed photographs is also not the same as a photograph.

Instead of photographing to remember, I try to make photographs that I can learn from. The best portraits I make not only tell me something about the subject but the often tell me even more about myself. I remember when I made these photographs, everything I was thinking about was trying to make an image that would tell me something later. I was not necessarily photographing in the moment, but rather I was photographing looking ahead to how it might make me think when I saw the photograph for the first time. This feeling is probably best explained by the words I say to myself as I make what I believe will be my best photographs. I say, “this is gonna look awesome,” or something along those lines. I don’t say “that, what I just took a picture of, looked awesome as I made the photo.” I am only thinking about how it is going to look later.

I photograph more to learn than to remember. Once I have made and then learned from the photograph, I remember it.

I have been attempting to write Part II of my post on aesthetics to talk specifically about portraits since I avoided doing so in the first post seen here.

While trying to think of the proper angle to speak about the aesthetics of portraits I was reminded of one of my favorite photographic series called Vector Portraits by Andrew Bush when I saw this post on Conscientious. As Jörg points out, there are other “well-known precedents” to Peter Snyder’s portraits. I believe that Andrew Bush should be considered one of those precedents, but I am not sure how well known he really is. I enjoy Andrew Bush’s series of people driving because there is a great sense of movement while maintaining a terrific sense of humor. Despite the fact that it may seem repetitive to look at several photographs of people driving, these photographs maintain variety within the constraint.  This variety is amplified once the captions are read along with the photographs. The captions ultimately make the portraits “Vector Portraits”, adding a speed and direction to the image. Indeed, the series is quite dynamic with it’s variety.

Woman Meandering Through Various Parts of Pacific Palisades, CA, in the Early Part of 1993 While Singing

Man Heading towards Tunnel at 73mph on a Sunday somewhere in Southern California on an Afternoon in March, 1992

Upon looking for more about Andrew Bush’s Vector Portraits I discovered that he is having a book titled Andrew Bush Drive published of the series in the spring here. The book cover is below with the caption for the photograph.

Woman Driving South at 41 MPH Down 26th St near the Riviera Country Club at 1:30 PM on a Tuesday in February of 1997

From the Yale University Press Website about Andrew Bush Drive:

The culture of cars is an inseparable part of American life. Whether used for functional purposes or recreation, automobiles are expressions of our personality. They also represent the American ideals of freedom, mobility, and independence, providing a unique personal space that is at once private and public.

Andrew Bush (b. 1956) examines this tension between private and public in his remarkable series of photographs of individuals driving cars in and around Los Angeles—a city famous for its car culture. By attaching a camera to the passenger side window, Bush made these pictures while driving alongside his subjects—often traveling at 60 mph. Taking notes on the speed and direction he was going, Bush created extended captions for the images and called the series Vector Portraits.  

I first learned about Bush at a lecture by Jeff Rosenheim who is the Curator at the Department of Photographs at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. To hear Jeff describe the way Bush goes about making the Vector Portraits is remarkable, I am sorry that I cannot do it justice. Simply try to imagine a car accelerating and decelerating often to try to compose a photograph out the passenger window on the freeway all lit by a bare-bulb strobe. No, he never caused an accident.

My only reaction to such an amazing situation can be summed up in one word; brilliant. The whole process, concept, and final images are all equally impressive. I am excited to see what the book looks like.

The process of making photographs can be a confusing one. I often try to explore with my camera, look at contact sheets and then revise what or how I am photographing.  This has frequently led to the development of a formula for making photographs.  I tend to operate within constraints and try to make something grow out of that by looking at subtle differences.

The problem with a formula arises when I  find one that works with what I am trying to do. At that point, I begin to ignore other photographable moments. Is it a problem when the artistic process becomes repetitive and selective? Is it the same as learning to focus on a project?

I look at many photographers that have well known work and many of them seem to have a formula for how they go about creating. I wonder how they get to that point. Is the idea there from the beginning, or does it develop from making work? I have come to realize that everyone uses some kind of formula either in how they see, or how they work. Sometimes, the formula is hidden in the work, but it is there nonetheless. A photographer may use their formula to get to a point where they can randomly create; in other words, their process is still formulaic.

I think formulas only truly present themselves when a photographer begins to work on a series. This is because if your goal was to only make a single image that was to always be by itself there would be no use for formula. You can make any one photograph and have it stand on its own. The formula is created when a photographer tries to make the next image in a body of work. How does one create a series that is void of formula and is only created off of pure moments of inspiration? The very notion of a series embraces the concept of using formula to establish consistency within the body of work.

Undoubtedly, formulas help us to create aspects of our images. The danger in them comes when it is the only thing allowing us to create, making each new photograph more of a regurgitation of the previous image. Your formula must allow for some wiggle room.