The endlessly rich subject of composition can always be explored afresh. Depending on whom you ask, it can present itself as a bewildering domain or one strictly governed by a rigid and limited set of rules; a realm of Classical thought, Romantic drama, or anarchic disregard, to suggest just a few outlines. Some view Classicism only through specific geometrical forms or divisions of the frame, or, too often, attempt to convince others that successful images always fit these patterns, even when the plain evidence of their own examples leaves the proposition highly doubtful. I open with these remarks in hopes of eluding discussion, in this particular thread, of what are often called rules of composition.
No less an influence in photography than Henri Cartier-Bresson was intrigued (not imprisoned) by geometry, as he, himself, discussed, and a stickler on composition, as reported by a number of his colleagues at the Magnum photo agency he founded. In the book Magnum Contact Sheets, which I recently got my hands on (Aside: Interlibrary loan, if you haven't used it, is a vast and marvelous resource for those of us shy on investment resources), several mentioned his unfailingly studying incoming photographs by turning them upside-down and on their sides. He was not alone among artists of many media doing this, and we large format photographers are hardly unfamiliar with studying images upside down.
I just finished another book, Arnold Newman, Masterclass. As an aspiring portraitist who has also left the studio behind and prefers natural light, I am drawn to his work. Like Cartier-Bresson, a trail-blazer. Initially a student of painting, his compositional eye is exceptional. Like Strand, another master of composition, he preferred the large format camera, though their approach and work is starkly different.
I mention them because their work continues to find its way into my continuing studies, and because neither they nor anyone else I have read, as much as I can recall (major caveat!) have discussed an aspect of composition that seems essential to portraits in particular, as well as to some other images. This aspect is the priority of attention that we naturally give to the human face in an image. Perhaps they did speak and/or write about it; perhaps it seemed too obvious.
I've spent considerable time exploring the proposition, testing it out. Granted, I am only one viewer, with my own outlook and underlying emotional peculiarities. In my view, while turning an image upside down is frequently a good test of composition—that is, of the formal internal organization of the rectangle (this assumes, I think, that we consider composition as a unity of sorts, as far as that may go, including visual ironies of various sorts); and while a portrait may continue to exhibit formal strength, even brilliance, in this manner, we do not read the face as we do when it is right-side-up, hence the compositional dynamic really becomes something entirely different, whereas an image without a person's face in it may (though not always) be submitted to this test without such a marked difference.
I'm not saying that a landscape, still life, or what have you is the same upside down. Rather, a portrait tends to draw our eye into the image on a path that it wouldn't necessarily travel if the person, especially the face, were replaced by an object of similar tonal characteristics. We look to the person in the image for meaning, for an emotional connection, in some way. Because of this, when turned upside-down, which tends to prevent us from reading the face emotionally as we would otherwise, the composition tends to read very differently. Other areas of the image can assume a far greater visual command. I find this to be strongly true in Newman's portraits, which holds its own irony, since he frequently portrayed artists in Modernist sorts of composition, in which form is paramount.
I say that we look for meaning, recognizing that it is not always there. A head in profile, for instance, close-up, can become a study in line or sculptural qualities, as Ansel Adams recounted derogatory comments of his early studio portrait of Caroline Anspacher (https://americanhistory.si.edu/colle...ct/nmah_993420, or see his Forty Examples book). In such images, the formal reclaims its role. We find the same in certain drawings and other works of fine portraitists such as John Singer Sargent.
Of course, the question may be raised: how, then, does one compose a portrait with the image upside on the ground glass? It's an interesting question, and much may be profited from dialogue. Here, portrait has been used generically, and the variety in portraiture, including how much of the frame is occupied by the face, is hardly limited. Generally, however, I would answer that we take it into account somehow. For those of us who have no compunctions about cropping, there is also a means of potentially improving the composition in the print.
For me, the subject remains in mind as I feel my way forward in this field. I welcome your thoughts.
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