One of the most annoying things to read in a statement or press release is the claim that so-and-so has captured the essence of such-and-such. Even someone “attempting to capture the essence” of their subject makes me look around for the nearest edge. I am saved only by the certain knowledge that some people are so intimidated by words that they’ll settle for meaningless clichés just to be done with it.
What prompts this rant is the recent launch of a new project that seems to be about cottonwood trees, or at least it involves cottonwood trees. Like nearly all my projects, this is not a blocked-out week in my schedule, but more in the way of a page in a mental notebook. The penciled-in title just reads “cottonwoods,” not “scarred survivors” or “chaotic growth” or “ancestral skeletons” or “vanishing havens.” As the list implies, such potential encapsulations tend to come float up in my mind from time to time, like shifting blobs in a lava lamp. Despite their intriguing associations, it seems quite clear that none could even remotely serve as an essence of cottonwood. More than that, they suggest that any notion of essence (not only verbal) would be diminishing.
Photographers seem more prone to the essence infatuation than other artists, though when it comes to publicists the guilt spreads wide. However, I have become aware of a couple of photographic studies of cottonwoods that I much admire. Robert Adams (no relation to Ansel), as I re-discovered while writing this post, has a book on cottonwoods. A longtime Colorado resident (though now in Oregon), Adams has lived with and loved cottonwoods, and his photographs, like mine, were made within a few miles of his home.
To an interviewer’s question, “Why do you feel that you have to be familiar with a place in order to do your best work there?,” he answers “Because what I’m after are characteristic views, and I can’t know if a view is characteristic until I’ve seen a place again and again, through all kinds of hours and seasons.”
The exact meaning of “characteristic views” is unclear, and seems dangerously close to the notion of essence. I think Adams means something close to “true,” as in true to the place, showing it as directly as possible. I’m not sure whether his notion of characteristic might exclude some facets of the subject, and I’m a bit puzzled how I would make a photograph that was not characteristic. In the end, I think the judgment is based on accumulated experience, and Adams is mainly saying that his selection of photographs has nothing to do with the “wow factor” touted in some circles.
Another well-known photographer, Lee Friedlander, is apparently also a fan of cottonwoods. Coming from the coastal Northwest, he has not lived with cottonwoods, but he has a masterful way with the high contrast of southwestern sun, and has, I think, reached the absolute limit of complexity that can be crammed into an image without it totally exploding. Only very poor images are available on the web. Most of them have a feeling akin to Sunil’s Pollock-like abstracts (see here and here). I happen to like Friedlander’s photographs quite well from an aesthetic point of view, but they don’t seem to say as much about cottonwoods as Adams’ do.
The second photograph in this post is actually the first I took at this location. Though I wanted to avoid too much blank sky, it fails to show the (characteristic!) broken trunks, victims no doubt of a windstorm that may have followed a weakening drought. I didn’t think of it in such terms at the time, but in retrospect the lead-in image seems to reach a better balance between the awkward solidity of the trunks and twiggy connection to the sky. I think I’ll try again to see it with yet more sky, though–a luxury I can indulge with a nearby subject.
The last, closer photograph introduces a few new details in the broken fence parts under the tree and the cattle (mere dark blobs through the falling snow) stretched along a line of dumped feed. This connects it more closely to the human environment and history.
But back to the question of essence. Having written the rant, I’m feeling more tolerant. How about you? Do you think of a subject as having an essence? One that an artist might capture? Perhaps an essence for you? Perhaps only for you at this time?
Gee, Steve, you really caught the essence of that cottonwood [Stop! don’t throw your camera at me!}
First, I find cottonwoods most attractive, partially because they grow where few other trees will — they are tough and can survive drought and cold and wind that would level a magnolia. And then too you can see them leafed and unleafed — they open up in the winter, and the sky, which is always huge where cottonwoods grow, makes a presence.
Now all that I wrote above is metaphor — perhaps even infatuated essentialism. But aren’t we stuck with that?
Irwin is right — only in context can we know anything — and furthermore, we can only barely circle what it is we know.
But you are right — the first photo is the one that says cottonwood to me. The last says “art” — which is strong, also. My six years in Laramie Wyoming may color my view of the cottonwood — those were formative years when the sky and the trees seemed as vital as my own life.
Steve, you bring up an interesting issue, although I daresay it seems your reaction against this turn of phrase seems more a reaction against the overuse of the cliche than against what the cliche actually implies.
It’s absolutely true that many writers — heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve been guilty — use the shorthand of “he captured the essence” to get at how an artist has employed eye and camera to shed insight into the things we know rather than simply the things we see in nature. Many writers overuse the phrase and its variants, probably because they’re on deadline and find themselves unable to articulate the specifics of how an artist has created a great image.
That said, there is a use for the phrase, I think — especially if the claim can be articulated out in greater specificity. You yourself are trying to capture something universal yet specific about cottonwoods — something that we all recognize as uniquely “cottonwood,” such as those broken branches. That’s all about getting at essence, it seems to me. No, it’s not “capturing” essence, in the same way that photographers don’t steal souls (therein lies the only real problem I have with the phrase). But a great photograph is often a window into essence.
You’re also right that photographers are most obsessed with this issue (and most guilty of rehashing the phrase), but that kind of makes sense: Photography is all about creating an image that shows reality, yet also shows something more. It’s about context and interrelation coming out in tangible forms. This is what I find myself always drawn to in Cartier-Bresson’s work: His ability to tell entire stories and give at least the appearance of deep personal insights in a single still image. Call that essence and I, for one, won’t balk.
By the way, my personal pet peeve in arts writing: “he was one of the greatest….”
Cheering and hedging at the same time is a true sign of lazy writing and shallow analysis. (And yes, I’ve done it myself a gazillion times…..)
(1) I love the last picture.
(2) Essence of a cotton wood: where? montana, new mexico, michigan?; when, summer or winter?
(3) I have been thinking about June’s statement
Frankly, the statement has been bothering me all day. I wonder what she means by this comparison.
To my mind, the first pictures has a neutral feeling and the last one has cozy feeling. It reminds me of a romantic painting in which a young man playing a flute may sit underneath an oak tree.
The sense of shelter that the picture gives me must arise from empathy with rabbits, marmots, foxes?
Joe,
Thank you for your thoughts. I like your word “insight” a whole lot better. I do think artists (including writers) are, in their own fashion seeking insights that, if not exactly captured, are somehow bound up in their artwork, and in turn provoke insights for viewers or readers.
You gently imply that I’m nit-picking about language, and I have to agree. I’m seizing the occasion to say that to me, “essence” implies something more universal, complete and singular, “the indispensable quality” according to my dictionary (emphasis mine). I hope to develop a better personal understanding of cottonwoods through this project, but if it shows, I think it will be more in the set of images than in any single one. The idea of trying to produce one all-encompassing image feels not only impractical but wrong-headed. I guess, ultimately, it’s a matter of my philosophy that understanding arises from accumulation of smaller insights.
True, there seem to be those cases where so many elements have converged in a photograph that one is tempted to call it perfect. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to have something like that happen to me, but I don’t intend to count on it. Writers would seem to have the advantage (when not on deadline, anyway) of being able to pick and choose all the parts of their creation, so perhaps the notion of grasping at least a big chunk of essence of something is not so vain.
Birgit,
Your reactions always stimulate me to see my own work better.
Regarding (2), there are at least six species of Populus. I couldn’t tell you how or whether their essences differ.
Steven,
Beautiful!!
I feel a longing, a nostalgia for something that I cannot seem to describe when I looked at that first shot in this post. To write this in vetween feeding our son must be a tribute to the power of that picture.
Thanks for posting this. Really enjoyed it.
Reminds me of Christmas cards also for some reason…
Steve:
And then there’s the essential. It appears that the cottonwood, while solitary in nature, is a small forest onto itself. I can feel a strong attraction to that kind of being, as it appears may you.
These images demonstrate again your attention to the relationship between elements, no matter how seemingly small.
Speaking of “essence”, the term suggests for me a kind of destination where all is understood and accounted for. I’m continually amazed at such a thing as the fruit fly – so small yet so inexhaustible. Birgit brings up a good point about the influence of location, to which could be added a long train of considerations.
I suppose that “essence’ presupposes a single thing,the One that goes beyond all the complications, containing them all but in a whole — whereas _I_ believe there are only the complications. Or many essences, which negates the meaning of the term.
Birgit, don’t think too hard over my words. They aren’t worth it. I certainly couldn’t tell you what I was thinking when I said what I said — although I know it was something about that sky……
June/Brigit:
Worth it?
Lightning strikes, limbs fall, symmetry is lost. Unarranged! Life REALLY is complicated.
June and D.,
essence versus complications, christianity versus buddhism, a single entity versus plurality?
Brigit,
Both. Neither. Both.
Redirect: when I work I try to disappear.
D.,
Beautiful.
Steve:
Image #3: the fence broken – unable to comb the cottonwood.
D. Redirect — love it. If one disappears into the art, is that then an essentialist approach? The whole being the maker not the made?
I liked this rant.
Let us hope there are no essences that art should aim to find. An essence implies finality–once you find the “essence of cottonwood” you might as well hang it up and move on the find the essence of something else.
Far preferable are all the little idiosyncrasies and details that embellish on the essence. I’ve always been more interested in the non-essential and peculiar rather than the quintessential.
P.S. (“Essence of Cottonwood” sounds a bit like a laundry detergent scent. Another reason to avoid the term!)
Steve,
I like the fact that you are a nit picker when it comes to language. I feel like language loses its power when we are not specific. I like essential rather than essence and it seems to reflect your straight forwardness (speaking of language is that a word?). I am thinking some of your hesitation with the word essence has to do with humility – how dare you use such a lofty term to describe your work kind of thing. There, I would disagree, but the word does not seem to be your style.
the first photo makes me so melancholy and remember snow covered trees I saw out my bedroom window as a kid. And delicious snow days. The trees were “oppressively” thick in Bethesda, MD.
I love the space in the third one, looking through a veil of branches. Plus I love cows. Great to see your work again.
Steve, my favorite photo of the group is the first one, but I’m not sure why.
Regarding “characteristic views”, it’s a concept I remember from looking at Egyptian art, where they were trying to use the view of something from which it could most readily be recognized. So you’d have a face made up of the characteristic view of a nose (in profile) and the characteristic view of an eye (from the front). Picasso integrated some of this into his work as well.
I don’t think of “characteristic views” as a measure of the quality of a work in any way, but it could describe an approach (one of many).
A couple of thoughts on the characteristics that I see in the first photo, that give it strength (by my eye) over the second one, which otherwise seems to take a pretty similar approach.
1. The diagonal plane of the fence is more pronounced than in the second photo, lending an added sense of depth of field and linear dissection of the frame that contrasts nicely with the cacophony of the branches. Moves the eye across the image nicely but subtly.
2. The fence and the branches touch the edges of the frame, but only in specific places, rather than generally as in the second image. Gives a sense of suspension, to my eye, that is lacking in the second image, which feels crowded into the frame.
3. Perhaps the most striking aspect is how the broken trunks jut into empty space. The two play together nicely, indicating a past — a context — that lends that aforementioned insight.
…Specific enough? Hope so! *grin*
June, McFawn: Yes, bravo for complications and idiosyncracies. I keep on finding that, despite my love of minimalism, my pictures usually tend toward the complex.
Jay: You seem to be adopting the finetooth approach. With your Photoshop skills, I’m sure you can fix it.
D. Lightning strikes, limbs fall, symmetry is lost. Unarranged! Life REALLY is complicated. Maybe I accidentally captured the essence not only of cottonwood, but of Life? :-) In all seriousness, I don’t necessarily require it, but I always enjoy it when a work suggests metaphorical associations well beyond the nominal subject.
Leslie: Just calling me humble is enough to make me blush. Thanks for your reactions, I appreciate your comment about space. That’s an aspect I find really intriguing, but often forget to think about when photographing (which may be good).
David: I’ve thought of trying to combine photographs from different angles into some kind of composite; I think we discussed this before in connection with Cubism. But I never thought of the relation to Egyptian art–thanks for that!
Joe: You nailed it! Certain aspects, like the diagonal and the overcrowding, were close to my thinking, which was partly at the time, and partly later. (I’m generally more intuitive while making pictures, more analytical afterwards.) I had thought about the broken trunks to the extent of wanting to show them, but your point about the way they are enhanced by the empty sky is quite illuminating; probably they need that, being partially veiled by the smaller branches and twigs. And I like your “sense of suspension,” which I think also owes something to the overall lighter tone of the first image. Thanks for taking the time to write about how this works for you. McFawn, take note!
Steve,
You may have missed the essence of the Cottonwood, but you surely captured the true essence of the fence posts. Truly amazing. They speak to me as if they were my own children.
That last sentence, by the way, is from an artist statement in a show I saw last year in which were displayed photographs capturing the (of course) essence of the subject matter, in this case dead tree roots.
I love naked trees so I found these pictures very interesting. I take some photos sometimes about subjects I want to paint and your photos make me want to use them for paintings.
The black and white with the snow and naked trees feels really really cold…. like Narnia almost. I see myself inside a dark farytale… is that a giraffe in the last picture background or just my imagination?
Can we use our imagination in photographs?
Angela,
I’m sorry to report that your giraffe is just a snowy branch with a suggestive shape. But I’m more than delighted that the photograph engages your imagination. Imagination is not only permitted, but required, at least to the extent the photograph is taken as art. To quote Robert Adams again (from Beauty in Photography):
“Art asserts that nothing is banal, which is to say that a serious landscape picture is metaphor. If a view of geography does not imply something more enduring than a specific piece of terrain, then the picture will hold us only briefly… In this sense we would in most respects choose thirty minutes with Edward Hopper’s painting Sunday Morning to thirty minutes on the street that was his subject; with Hopper’s vision we see more.”
Steve:
Art isn’t the only one who so asserts. Rollie Ruhrkraut, a colleague at the museum, used to say that any decent docent could talk about a brick for that thirty minutes that Mr. Adams mentions.
And I would add that Mr. Hopper saw what he wanted and needed. Another perceptive talent might take that time to gather an entirely different bouquet.
Chuck,
Fenceposts! You open up a whole new project possibility in those humble, utilitarian parts of a larger whole. For one who can read it, there’s quite a lot of history there. The first photo shows, now serving as fenceposts, a railroad tie, standard steel stakes, cut lumber, and pieces of branches, perhaps dropped from this very cottonwood.
Jay,
That reminds me of the breakthrough brick (in Bozeman!) in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Sadly, we just lost the second of the DeWeese’s that Pirsig came to visit. I had a brief post on it in my local Art Bozeman blog.