Originality and Soul
On a recent drive I spent some time listening to Jeff Curto’s excellent series on the History of Photography. In one of his lectures, he mentioned a common belief among some indigenous cultures that a photograph takes away a small piece of one’s soul, with the cumulative effect of eliminating the soul completely after some amount of photographic exposures.
While this belief is easily dismissed as superstition, one can’t deny the desensitizing effect of seeing multiple images of the same place. In 1851, when members of the Mariposa Battalion became the first non-native people to enter Yosemite Valley, private Lafayette Brunell described the experience:
“None but those who have visited this most wonderful valley can even imagine the feelings with which I looked upon the view that was there presented. The grandeur of the scene was but softened by the haze that hung over the valley, light as gossamer, and by the clouds which partially dimmed the higher cliffs and mountains. This obscurity of vision but increased the awe with which I beheld it, and as I looked, a peculiar exalted sensation seemed to fill my whole being, and I found my eyes in tears with emotion.”
While it had been some years since I visited Yosemite, I remember standing with other tourists at Inspiration Point. Every one of us probably walked away with a photograph of the stunning view, but not one was in tears. We all knew what it would look like long before we got there, having seen dozens, if not hundreds or thousands of images of the place before. Almost the same experience repeated itself at Oxbow Bend, Delicate Arch, Old Faithful, and any number of other icons of the American West. Certainly amazing places to see and experience, but no tears shed, no cries of amazement, no overwhelming joy of discovery. Can anyone honestly say that the abundance of images of these places did not indeed somewhat diminish their souls?
Traveling in terra incognita, I am quite often moved and inspired by natural beauty, sometimes where I least expect it. Among countless such occasions I can recall an encounter with a mountain lion in a golden aspen grove after the first snow, a late night thunderstorm while stranded over a remote canyon, and even the small drama of a mouse trapped in a deep canyon pothole on a winter day, shivering in the cold. I helped it out. All these made my heart twitch in a way the majestic Yosemite Valley did not.
I consider this effect as I strive to make images of little-known places or intimate vignettes that do not betray their location and let the viewer appreciate and connect with the subject and composition rather than file it under an already-established category or a “yet another” take on the same view. I try to capture those things that moved me without taking away from the mystery of their anonymity – their proverbial soul.
Category: Thoughts and Musings
Well written, Guy.
I see the icons of the American West as communal landscapes. They are collectively ours as Americans. We all have access to them, and we all likely share similar feelings and thoughts while gazing into the Valley from Inspiration Point. On the contrary, the intimate vignettes and little-known places carry powerful personal meaning and significance.
I’m as awed by Inspiration Point and Delicate Arch as anyone else, but my most intense and personal moments with nature almost always occur in little-known places and almost always by myself. I am beckoned to photograph by the experience – not the view.
Good observations, as usual, Guy, and ‘diminished soul’ is a far more poetic rendition of a well-established fact: ‘familiarity breeds contempt’ (http://tinyurl.com/6p2axt). The remedy -as you suggest- is to compensate by allowing oneself to react emotionally to the scene. Easier said than done, I know, but it can be learned.
Thanks guys!
Michael: My sentiments exactly. I couldn’t have said it better.
John: I can honestly say that the more familiar I become with these places, the more I enjoy them. The contempt part may hold true for people (a la Sartre) but I never tire of the wild.
Guy
Hi Guy,
I’ve been a long time lurker and admirer of your work, and thought I’d add a comment here as your post struck a chord with me… once again!
I’ve had similar conversations with some friends about photographing the ‘icons’ and other familiar places, and it goes back and forth about how its all ‘been done before’, etc, and also about how the impact is lessened from seeing so many images of these places beforehand. My two cents is that I’ve never felt the experience was diminished, but always thought it was similar to playing an instrument… one can hear a Bach Invention over and over, but actually playing (and experiencing) it yourself adds to the soul, and brings full circle what you may have heard before, or as with photography what had been seen beforehand in other images and work.
I like compiling quotes, mostly about nature, and your post made me remember one by Van Gogh that I just went back and reread… ‘It is not the language of painters but the language of nature which one should listen to… The feeling for the things themselves, for reality, is more important than the feeling for pictures.”
Again, just my two cents… I hope you and an all others possibly reading this have a great Thanksgiving.
John
Hi Guy,
Couldn’t help but comment here. We all share a common tie to the landscape, much as Michael Gordon suggests. I totally agree that it is the experience of visiting the wilderness, where every you may find it, that is the true reward. The fact that we are able to create images while we are there is just a further blessing. Thanks again for sharing your thoughts.
Best Regards,
Michael R. Reynolds
I’m not sure I agree with you. Most times I go to Yosemite, I still try to make it up to tunnel view and it still brings tears to my eyes.
I’m still thrilled the first time I drive into Bridleveil Meadow and see El Cap off to the left.
Maybe other places are different, but Yosemite has so much soul, it will take a lot more to deplete it for me.