Learning to See, Pt. 1

My first camera was a used Olympus OM-1. First introduced in 1972, it was known as a "compact SLR", or Single Lens Reflex camera, although far heavier at 24oz than what we are accustomed to today. It shot 35mm film and didn't have a single automatic feature. Not one. In order to produce a decent photograph, I had to learn how to focus (manually), adjust the depth of field and shutter speed to compensate for available light (manually) and correctly set the ISO to the film speed that was currently in my camera (you guessed it...manually). I was 14 years old and in order to use my new camera, I had to learn how to make quick, educated, critical decisions.

In case I'm starting to sound like a luddite, let me offer some proof that I'm not one. I eventually went to art school, got a degree in Photography, and invested in my first digital camera three months after graduating. Four years later, I use my Nikon D200 every day and I'm still learning, and marveling, at what it's capable of. I work in marketing for a technology consulting firm. I'm very hopeful that someone in my lifetime will actually invent the Heisenberg Compensator and clear the way for a transporter. I'm a geek, a gadget-freak, and I love technology.

That being said, I'm increasingly and almost profoundly disturbed by the direction that digital cameras have taken in recent years, which seems to be along the path of eliminating the need for any thought, critical or otherwise, decision, or actual knowledge of the workings of a camera prior to the making of a photograph. I said "making" instead of "taking" deliberately, as I've always thought of the photographic image as something that is constructed, as the human eye and brain works in conjunction with a tool, the camera. That is starting to change. For less than $400, you can buy a camera that not only recognizes when people in your shot are smiling, but can actually be programmed to wait until all people are smiling, or until a child - specifically a child - is smiling, before it takes the shot. Furthermore, if you somehow manage to take a photograph in which some members of your party are not smiling, you can simply switch to a playback mode and use the camera's face-recognition technology and retouch menu to add smiles to the faces of your uncooperative models.

These features eliminate more than the need for critical thought; on the surface, they would seem to eliminate the need for training, whether self-taught or formal, that leads to a solid understanding of the tool in one's hand. I'm not arguing that cameras should be so complex that non-professionals can't use them, or that everyone needs to get a degree to be a photographer. In fact, I'm arguing for a return to a far simpler approach, more universal approach, something like Kodak employed when they released the popular Brownie, (shown in the image above) a camera intended to be one that virtually anybody could use. "You push the button, we do the rest", was the slogan. But by "the rest", Kodak meant the 3 variables I referred to earlier - depth of field, shutter speed, and ISO. People who used the Kodak Brownie still had the chance to construct their image. To wait for children to smile. To watch, and listen, and see.

So many of the world's most well-known photographs would not exist if it weren't for photographers making their own decisions, instead of relying on the tool to do it for them. Next week we'll see some examples of those, and try to explore the concept of training through this particular lens. In the meantime, I'll leave you with a quote I love, and respectfully ask for your thoughts on the topic.

“You put your camera around your neck in the morning along with putting on your shoes, and there it is, an appendage of the body that shares your life with you. The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera”. - Dorthea Lange