PhotoHistory

From: THE BARNET BOOK OF PHOTOGRAPHY

Pictorial Photography (Part 1 of 4)

By: A. Horsley Hinton, 1898

Unlike the subjects of the other articles in this book, in pictorial photography we are not brought to consider one of the many processes which go to make up the photographic craft, but merely a special and exceptional application of any and all means known to the photographer.

The particular end to which this application is made will be explained as far as the limits of space will permit, and some of the methods of such application will be described. Beyond this I have no intention of going. I do not present pictorial photography as a branch of photography especially worthy of study — I am not concerned in making converts. It is for the photographer who has already formed a desire to give his attention to the pictorial side of photography and who is seeking help, that this chapter is designed.

First let us come to a mutual understanding as to the term Pictorial Photography. Picture-making by photography would perhaps be a simpler phrase, but that to my mind the word “picture-making” is too similar in idea to boot-making, lace-making, etc., all of which imply a mechanical manufacturing, whereas a picture — a real picture — like a musical composition, a poem or a beautiful thought, grows or is evolved rather than made to order.

Art photography would be a better term, but that in photography the word “art” has been so often coupled with things the very antithesis of artistic and might hence be misleading, moreover the photographer will show discretion rather than weakness if he be not too hasty to claim for photography a position among the arts, and whilst its claims to that dignity remain as yet in dispute. We may be content with “Pictorial Photography” as a less assuming title, yet one which will sufficiently differentiate between what we may call the ordinary photographic production and - Well, what?

That is the first thing I have to try and explain.

Look at a scenic image in any book, and, making due allowance for some loss of quality due to reproduction by a “half-tone” block, try to imagine what the originals were like. Then say if they please you. If you say no, you do not care for them, they do not appeal to you, you do not mind if you never saw anything of the kind again from this day henceforth; very well, doubtless there are other things in the world in which you can find pleasure — but so far as my present subject is concerned, here you and I part company. Illustrations that are more or less successful reproductions of pictorial work, and if you do not like them, making as I have said due allowance for their being reproduced and reduced, then it is certain you do not want to hear anything about them, and it is not my intention to persuade you, so please pass on and make room for those who do care for these things and wish to learn all they can concerning them, or at most stand aside and peradventure some stray word dropped unintentionally may quicken your interest and discover in you a sympathy of which you were previously unconscious.

Referring now again to such illustrations — which in the absence of anything else we take as fairly typical of pictorial photographs and assuming that one or the other, if not all, do please some of my readers, I will ask them to endeavor to analyze their feelings when confronting such productions.

Take now an ordinary commercial photographic view such as one may purchase from any seaside stationer, and compare the sensations awakened by each. In the case of the topographical view we feel some satisfaction at being able to recognize a familiar spot, or the view reminds us of some other place, or it may be quaint buildings, or rugged mountains, or miles of foliage, or what not. They inspire curiosity or interest because we know the photograph to be a true record of facts, that is to say we accept the photograph in lieu of the actual presence of the objects represented, and experience nearly the same feelings as we should were we to visit the spot represented. We know that the wonderful, curious, or unusual things portrayed have an existence, otherwise we could not have a photograph of them.

In all such cases our interest and value of the photograph would vastly diminish, were it possible for a photograph of this kind to be made simply by the photographer’s hand and imagination without any original at all.

You look at a photograph of this or that sea-side place and remark, “Ah, yes, that’s dear old Yarmouth, many a time, etc., etc.,” or else, ” Dear me, I wonder what place that is, it’s so like” such and such a town, or it may be you inquire “Where’s that?” and you express or think to yourself you would like to go and visit the spot. These and kindred sensations are those kindled by the average photograph, but there is yet another, for you may be impelled to exclaim, “How wonderfully clear and bright that photograph is,” “What a good photograph.” In this case you are interested purely in the execution as an example of clever manipulation and skillful craftsmanship.

Now, compare such feelings as these with those stirred by an example of good pictorial art work. In the first place your esteem for it, if you value it at all, is quite as great whether you know the place where it was made or not. If it pleases you, that pleasure is not dependent upon the fact that it does represent some place. In the case of paintings and drawings as often as not they do not pretend to represent any place at all, but are pure fiction, yet we do not value them the less. To what then is the pleasure we feel when looking at a good picture due? Is it not that a picture stirs up, that is, creates pleasant or beautiful thoughts and ideas — by pleasant I do not mean necessarily merry or joyous ones, for some hearts feel profounder pleasure in the grandeur of storm or the majesty of the mountain than in the sweet wilderness of flowery wastes, but notice that such beautiful ideas are created by the picture. You were thinking of something totally different before you came upon the landscape picture which instantly made you feel the glowing light, the stirring breeze, and hear the rustling corn and noisy brook, and yet it cannot be said it is because we recognize these things in the picture — that we receive these impressions, at least it is not the kind of recognition which takes place when we see a photograph of Brighton Pier or Haddon Hall.

Notice, it is not the exact and faithful portrayal of objects that creates the emotions instanced, for if you closely observe the manner in which a good painting is done you will find that rude splashes of paint, broad brush strokes, and the like stand for foliage or water, or corn stalks as the case may be, when we know that had the painter desired he could have produced his likeness of nature with a good deal more of the precise detail and fidelity to outlines which photography excels in, had he wished. But if the painter or other pictorial artist needs not to trouble about accuracy to details to secure the effect aimed at he must be faithful to general facts. There is a great difference between not recognizing things or having no particular wish to do so, and feeling conscious that a portrayal is so utterly unlike anything in our past experience of nature that we should not recognize the objects even if we were acquainted with them. To take an extreme case our enjoyment of the effect and sentiment of a beautiful landscape picture is not enhanced by our being able to recognize whether the trees are oaks or elms, but it would be distinctly disturbed if the palm trees were represented as growing on the slopes of a Welsh mountain. Innumerable examples and instances might be given to show that the artist, whatsoever his medium, be it color or monochrome, may depart from truth, or may be indifferent to precise details, only so far as he avoids palpable untruth.

Why is this?

When we look at a powerful and impressive picture we feel at once the sentiment, our emotions are at once stirred, subsequently we recognize objects and facts portrayed, but only when we begin to look for them or think about them; but a gross exaggeration or a very obvious error strikes us at once before we begin to receive sentiments and ideas, and that error or exaggeration once seen is never lost sight of, and whole enjoyment of the picture is hopelessly marred.

Now, from the foregoing (for want of space I am aware that the argument is incomplete, and must therefore ask the student to think the matter out and grasp the side issues by reading between the lines) we may formulate the broad definition that a picture does not depend for its excellence on the faithful representation of objects, and is not chiefly valuable on account of our immediate recognition of things portrayed, yet on the other hand it must not let us feel that there is obvious inaccuracy.

Here then we have two opposite positions in both of which the mere objects employed to build up the picture are subordinated to the effect or impression of the picture. In one case the spectator must not be allowed to feel that the representation is wrong, in the other success will not directly depend on the representation being very right, neither startling rightness or truth nor the obvious wrongness or untruth should thrust the objects composing the picture upon the beholder’s attention, he should be left free to receive the expression or sentiment of it.

I hope the reader is following me in this line of thought closely. I am aware that it may seem dry and uninteresting, but I see no other way of placing the student in a proper position at the outset than by explaining the essential elements of pictorial work, and I will make this introductory part as brief as possible.