Article
Article of Faith - Outdoor Photography Oct 2005
Whatever photographers think of digital imaging - and those opinions range from zealous faith in its righteousness on the one hand to a certain belief it is the Devil's Work on the other - it has caused most of us to question what we do photographically, and wonder whether we need to change.
Since human nature is to be idle and slumber in our comfort zones given half a chance, I therefore see the digital revolution as a Good Thing.
The Digital Landscape
In April I discussed this issue with one of Britain's greatest photographers, Colin Prior. OP readers will know his pioneering panoramic landscape images, and I know it sent a shockwave through the British landscape photographic community when, in his OP article in December 2004 (CHECK!!) Colin declared he would be shooting on digital in the future. In our discussions, he elucidated his philosophy of photography: IMAGING, pure and simple. I also learned more of the logistical difficulties of carrying heavy panoramic and large format equipment deep into the world's wild places, the subject matter to which Colin is unswervingly dedicated. The quality of the new imaging sensors, the camera's speed of response, the range of lenses, and the ability to travel the world without the trauma of passing hundreds of rolls of film through airport security all adds up to a better working method. Imaging is changing, and Colin is riding the wave with it. The Canon 1Ds Mk2 will open up new ways of working for him, new forms of expression and journalistic opportunities, while retaining the ability to shoot high quality landscapes. However, I was pleased to hear that he has retained the 6x17 gear with which he built his reputation.
Colin's reasons to change are compelling. But my different priorities make me - as yet - unwilling to follow the same path. For instance, film and airport security are much less of an issue for me. These days I do less than 10% of my work outside the UK. And while I occasionally shoot in a journalistic style with a hand-held camera, I rarely make images of lasting value that way. For me a tripod is almost as fundamental as the camera itself.
What about quality? Undeniably, the 16.7megapixel sensor probably does start to approach the scanned 5x4 in detail resolved and tonal quality, although the ability to process a RAW file correctly is vital to fulfil this quality potential.
The large format camera has movements, giving fine control of focussing and perspective (mostly) unavailable with smaller rigid-bodied cameras. Yet Canon make tilt and shift lenses, bringing LF-style movement to the digital world (at a price).
In the end, I just love shooting large format, and would miss the process. I love seeing the large image upside down on the ground glass screen. I love the ritual of the dark cloth, the painstaking positioning of the camera, precision focussing with a lupe, and the perfection of the focussed image. I don't love missing wonderful, elusive, fast-moving lighting opportunities. But LF teaches you to anticipate great light rather than react to it, and for all the moments I've missed, I've probably captured others I'd not have seen with a smaller camera because the format obliges me to take longer, to take the time, to be patient. And in the end it is the time that counts.
I will never take as many photographs with my Ebony as I would if I had a digital camera. Yet because of the physicality of the process, the ritual, the craft and indeed the expense, LF encourages a thoughtful, thorough and disciplined approach to image-making. I still believe I will make better photographs with an instrument similar in design to that used by Victorian explorers, than I could with the most sophisticated stills camera of the 21st century. Large format is not easy, it is not instant, it is not convenient. But because it cannot be rushed, it is still the most satisfying way to make an image.
The Artefact
One final observation is the issue of the analogue original, or what I like to call the 'relic of the true cross theory of photography.' Allow me to explain. For many years I travelled around the Mediterranean photographing places for travel books, and every so often I would find myself in a village with a colossal basilica enshrining a relic of the True Cross. Or the Virgin Mary's tibia. Or some thing which, to the pilgrim, is an original, authentic, physical artefact of their Christian faith. The size of the basilicas, often disproportionate with the surrounding communities, reflects the enormous numbers of visiting pilgrims over the centuries. It says a lot for the power of dusty relics.
I am not being deliberately flippant by drawing this analogy with photography. The physical reality of the photographic original genuinely connects us with the moment at which it was made. For me, the original photographs of Niepce, Fox Talbot and Daguerre, the light-sensitive plates struck by those photons in the years 1839 or 1840, are among the most remarkable artefacts of history. They may not record the rise of a new religious faith, or a political revolution, but these objects are the first steps in a technology that helped usher in the modern world.
Digital photography gives us no artefact. Yes, it gives us imaging, and for many professional applications it is a substantially superior tool to the film camera. But the physical reality of film connects us directly to the original moment. It is its own witness. Looking at a transparency does not even need a conversion process like a negative does, and is truly an artefact of light, exposed in the camera to the photons that streamed from the subject during the moment of exposure. Whereas a digital file has no physical presence, and its information always has to be processed. Does this really matter? So long as human beings have an attraction to things they can see, touch and hold I think it does. Perhaps that is why - for now - I am keeping the true faith. With film!
