These I Like - A Weekly Gallery of Exceptional Photographs

[r.e.]

Here's the problem with Mr. Picker's photograph. It leads people like Ken Lee to conjure up some Never, Never Land romantic vision about "rugged simplicity and solitude". Meanwhile, seven years before this photograph was taken, Québec went through what is known as The October Crisis, during which a provincial Cabinet Minister was assassinated and stuffed in the trunk of a car, a British diplomat was kidnapped, the army was brought in and the perpetrators went into exile to Cuba. The Gaspé, at the time and since, far from being a backwater, has played an important role in Québec politics. Indeed, it is all of 240 miles from Quebec City, which is the provincial capital and not generally considered one of North America's more backward cities.

At the time that Mr. Picker made this photograph, he had moved from the rather affluent Westchester, New York to rural Vermont, which might go a long way to explaining his "vision", which is the vision of a tourist unencumbered by political and social context and, unless he spoke French, not even capable of communicating with most of the "locals".

[Ken Lee]

And yet, the scene he encountered had a rugged simplicity, and at that moment there was a lovely silver light which we sometimes see along the coast when the conditions are favorable. He found it beautiful, captured an image of it, and shared it with others. Then someone else came along, found the image beautiful, and shared that image with others.

[r.e.]

And yet, the scene he encountered had a rugged simplicity, and at that moment there was a lovely silver light which we sometimes see along the coast when the conditions are favorable. He captured an image of it, and shared it with others. Then someone else came along and shared that image again.

Hey, if that meets your criteria for an "exceptional photograph", cool.

[mdm]

The contours and sea dont understand your politics, neither does the light.

[austin granger]

"It illustrates the rugged simplicity and solitude of the Gaspé Peninsula."

Photographs like this are a dime a dozen. I don't know what Picker's intent was, but if it was what you say, it makes about as much sense as talking about "the rugged simplicity and solitude" of Maine, New Brunswick or Nova Scotia. It is nostalgie de la boue stuff, even as of 1977, and as ill-informed as it is condescending.

It has been pointed out that the photograph does not meet the plumb bob test. In the case of wooden buildings as old as the ones in this photograph, the question isn't whether they are out of kilter, but by how much.

I have to say I find this response fascinating, as it reminds me anew of just how little I even notice a photograph's subject these days. I mean to say, of course I see the subject (that is a house, that is a bridge, that is a dog, etc), but what strikes me foremost is usually the light and shapes and 'feel.' And I find the light and shapes and feel in the Picker photograph to be very nice.

In further defense of Picker, and with all due respect, I'm not sure it's quite fair to saddle him with the responsibility of truthfully representing the larger, political/social context of the place he was photographing. I mean, if that were a photographer's duty, it seems to me that a huge portion of the world's great pictures would be relegated to the trash bin. I mean, maybe he just liked the light-isn't that OK?

We bring so much of ourselves to the pictures we look at.

[austin granger]

The contours and sea dont understand your politics, neither does the light.

And while I am busy typing, David expresses my thoughts much more concisely! Thank you.

[Ken Lee]

We can view a Fine Art photograph from a social or political perspective if we like. It's natural for some people to do so.

We can view a Fine Art photograph from the perspective of meteorology or biology too. Any perspective we like.

Here, the intent was primarily... aesthetic.

[austin granger]

And yet, the scene he encountered had a rugged simplicity, and at that moment there was a lovely silver light which we sometimes see along the coast when the conditions are favorable. He found it beautiful, captured an image of it, and shared it with others. Then someone else came along, found the image beautiful, and shared that image with others.

And Ken too. Geez, I should have paid more attention in typing class so I could be faster when the internet came along! Seriously though, Ken's quote is very well said.

[r.e.]

I have to say I find this response fascinating, as it reminds me anew of just how little I even notice a photograph's subject these days. I mean to say, of course I see the subject (that is a house, that is a bridge, that is a dog, etc), but what strikes me foremost is usually the light and shapes and 'feel.' And I find the light and shapes and feel in the Picker photograph to be very nice.

In further defense of Picker, and with all due respect, I'm not sure it's quite fair to saddle him with the responsibility of truthfully representing the larger, political/social context of the place he was photographing. I mean, if that were a photographer's duty, it seems to me that a huge portion of the world's great pictures would be relegated to the trash bin. I mean, maybe he just liked the light-isn't that OK?

We bring so much of ourselves to the pictures we look at.

The "light and shapes and feel" would be fine if it wasn't so pedestrian. I spend about four months a year in an area like this (I'm there now, just spent an interesting day dealing with Ophelia, thankfully much less serious than Igor last year), and a photograph like this is literally a dime a dozen. Here's how you do it. Find an old building in an old fishing community on the Atlantic ocean, preferably with lots of rock (no shortage of them), wait for some decent light (you'll get it at least three or four times a week) and block out the reality of what is going on around you.

That would be OK if the result was in some way original, but what Picker did in this photo is what a half-way competent amateur with no imagination does in this kind of area. There is nothing "exceptional" about this photograph, and at the same time it hankers back to a romantic view of the world that doesn't exist.

There are lots of exceptional photographs in the world. In my view, this just isn't one of them. In fact, I'd hold it up as an example of really tired cliché.

[austin granger]

The "light and shapes and feel" would be fine if it wasn't so pedestrian. I spend about four months a year in an area like this (I'm there now, just spent an interesting day dealing with Ophelia, thankfully much less serious than Igor last year), and a photograph like this is literally a dime a dozen. Here's how you do it. Find an old building (no shortage of them) and the ocean and block out the reality of what is going on around you.

That would be OK if the result was in some way original, but what Picker did in this photo is what a half-way competent amateur photographer with no imagination does in this kind of area. There is nothing "exceptional" about this photograph, and at the same time it hankers back to a romantic view of the world that doesn't exist.

There are lots of exceptional photographs in the world. In my view, this just isn't one of them. In fact, I'd hold it up as an example of really tired cliché.

I find it exceptional. It resonates with me. But again, I don't think this has much to do with the subject matter or with any romantic views of the world that I might have. It's something else. I think that often a photograph's 'subjects' are simply stand-ins for psychological/emotional states. Or are metaphors. For instance, you might look at a picture of a lone house on a cliff as a picture of a lone house on a cliff. Or, you might see it as an expression of an individual's loneliness, or about our place in the greater universe, or whatever. You can go on and on. It's infinite.

Who knows what Picker had in mind?

Maybe it doesn't really matter. I suspect that in the end, all photographs are of the viewer.