Composition
is a wondrous thing, filled with rules, guidelines and mystery. A good
composition can make the boring scene exciting. On the flip side, a bad
composition can destroy a beautiful scene. Composition can draw the viewer into
your story but can also send them running in the other direction. We can talk
for hours, and I have, on the rules of composition. (You can check out part 1,
part 2, and part 3 of composition on my blog.) We can analyze the interactions of leading
lines and the Rule of Thirds. We can measure distances of the Golden Mean. We
can judge an image on the photographer’s use of foreground, middle ground, and
background. We can weigh the virtues of symmetry, balance, and minimalism.
These are all concepts that a photographer needs to know, understand,
implement, and toss aside when needed. Yet, if you follow these rules and
guidelines, you could still produce an image that is lifeless and will remain
on your computer and never get elevated to your wall, where good photos are
meant to be.
Let’s
chat a bit about going beyond the basics of composition. When you arrive on
scene with beauty surrounding you and all these composition concepts in your
head, do you freeze? Do you find it difficult to find a compelling composition?
Do you just start pointing our camera in whatever direction and hope something
will stick? Do you understand the guidelines of composition but have difficulty
recording them on your sensor? Do you ever review your images after a trip and
wonder what happened to the grandeur you experienced?
If
you have answered Yes to any of these questions, allow me to help. As Erin
Babnik explains, as landscape photographers it’s our job to organize nature.
Composition guidelines help us to organize nature in an even more eye-pleasing
quality that our brains can understand and latch onto. Look at the image above
– the actual scene is one of chaos as forests in the Pacific Northwest are and
the viewpoint is a bit disconcerting. Yet with the leading line of the
waterfall through the mossy rocks, your brain knows what it is supposed to look
at and finds peace in that implicit knowledge. That’s what composition is meant
to do.
As
you arrive on the scene, ask yourself these questions:
What attracts me to
this scene? What do you like about the scene? What made you stop your walk or
the car and take a longer look? Is it how the light plays across the scene? Do
you find a pattern that is appealing? Analyze why – even before taking out the
camera. I will often stand on a viewpoint and soak in the landscape before me
without raising the camera to my eye. I am looking for those elements of the
scene that attract me – and there is no right or wrong answer. Take 10
photographers to the same location and they will create 10 different images.
Your vision is your own and if you like that rock, then include that in your
photo or make it the subject. It’s answering the question “what about that rock
do you like?” And you photograph should answer that question because you are
now telling the story of that rock.
I was reminded of this
basic concept of composition in a book about writing, because creativity is
creativity no matter the medium. In her book “Bird by Bird”, Anne Lamont
describes a scene from Mel Brooks’ movie “The 2,000-Year-Old Man” (a movie I
have yet to see, but now thinking it needs to go on my list) where a
psychiatrist gives advice to his patient about letting the broccoli tell him
how to eat it. Sounds weird, right? But not. The subject, the scene you want to
photograph has a way of talking to you; telling you how best to photograph it
at that time with those conditions. What made you stop and look at the scene in
the first place is a whisper. Each photographer will hear a different whisper
and will photograph to tell a different story. No not a different story, just a
different version of the same story, to contribute to a greater understanding
of the subject.
Not every photographer
will be compelled to tell the same story and that is what makes photography
such a rich and creative endeavor. British landscape photographer and YouTuber,
Thomas Heaton describes this concept further in his video about photographing
one of the most iconic landscapes of the Southwest United States – Mesa Arch.
Photographers were lined up to photograph the arch as the sun rose which makes
the underside of the arch glow. However, because of the overcast sky on that
day, the scene required a different telling. Thomas and a few of his fellow
photographers followed the whispers and found scenes that created beautiful
images of the same landscape. They were able to add to the story that is Mesa
Arch by not photographing the arch itself but the landscape around the arch.
Now this is where the
going gets tough – set up your camera and start removing everything in the
frame that doesn’t help tell your story. A common thread to photography is that
while painters start with a blank canvas; the writer begins with a blank page -
our canvas, our page comes pre-filled with extraneous bits and pieces and it is
up to us edit out elements to create a compelling image – an image that
narrates the story of this place. It’s tough. I know when I get to a beautiful
alpine meadow and flowers paint the landscape in a rainbow of hues, I want to
photograph all the pretties. I want to include EVERYTHING. And I bet you also
have that same impulse. You get to the viewpoint and want to get it all in the
frame of your camera, but then seem unsatisfied that you couldn’t record the
grandeur of the view.
Have you ever uttered
this statement? “The camera didn’t do the view justice.” That’s because you’re
not being choosey about what to include and what to exclude. Going back to
writing, there’s a saying in editing that you have to kill the darlings. You
might have a phrase, a sentence, or even a character that you love – that makes
you feel good about yourself and your abilities. But sadly, this element
doesn’t work in the grand scheme of the story. It’s one of the hardest things
for a writer to remove that piece. It can be that way with photography too. We
love that little element off to the side, but it becomes distracting to the
rest of the image. Crop it out. It helps to stop and listen to the scene,
breath and watch, then start looking through the viewfinder without the tripod
if you’re using one. Find the view and composition where that whisper you heard
turns into a yelp of joy.
Say you’re at an
overlook at the Grand Canyon. Of course, you want an image of the canyon with
all the layers and textures of the earth. You frame up an image that
encompasses as much as you can to show the grandeur. While you’re at it, you
try to include a little promontory closer to you, but then something just
doesn’t look right. At this point try one of two things. Crop the promontory
out of the frame, then reposition yourself, investigate the promontory and
create another image. Or ditch the first composition, move yourself and reframe
an image that features both the promontory and the grandeur. That little
promontory is trying to tell you something about the story of the place. Listen
to it. I think you’ll be happy that you did.
We can know the rules or guidelines front to back and
create technically correct images that never spark life in our audience. To
take that extra step to listen to the needs of the scene and find the telling
of the story of the time and place and only telling one story at a time,
eliminating all of the extraneous side stories, you will be well on your way to
creating an image that calls to your audience to stop and listen to the story
you’re retelling.