Category: <span>Colour</span>

sleep, Halifax, Dingle, Northwest Arm,
Halifax, Nova Scotia, 2011                                  © Avard Woolaver             

Sometimes it’s difficult to fall asleep—your mind is racing; you’re tossing around; sleep just won’t come. I’ve tried various strategies over the years, and the one that works best for me is sleep-inducing music. It started several years ago with Brian Eno’s sonic masterpiece “Discreet Music” — calm, slow-paced music that comes in waves and is meant to be played at a very low volume. Eno says in the liner notes, “This presented what was for me a new way of hearing music–as part of the ambience of the environment just as the colour of the light and the sound of the rain were parts of that ambience. It is for this reason that I suggest listening to the piece at comparatively low levels, even to the extent that it frequently falls below the threshold of audibility.”

After I tried listening to “Discreet Music” at low volumes and found it effective, I experimented with other music played the same way. Jefferson Airplane, John Coltrane, and Erik Satie worked for me. Not only are certain songs reliably sleep-inducing for me, there are exact places in a song where I fall asleep. On John Coltrane’s “Shifting Down,” I nod off during Kenny Dorham’s solo at 6:45. On Jefferson Airplane’s “Somebody to Love,” it happens right around the start of the third verse, which begins at 1:43 (after first listening to the first two tracks on the album The Worst of Jefferson Airplane.)

Lately I have been listening to the Miles Davis album In a Silent Way as I fall asleep. I always seem to drift off at 4:50 into the song “Shhh/Peaceful,” during a high trumpet note.

While I’ve found music to be remarkably effective (I rarely have insomnia anymore) and, for me, strangely predictable in its effects, I’m searching for other ways to fall asleep quickly and easily. If my trusty iPod fails, I need a backup.

A new mental imaging trick, “the cognitive shuffle,” aims to silence fretful thoughts by deliberately filling the brain with benign images. In a recent article in O (the monthly magazine from Oprah Winfrey), writer Kelly DiNardo quotes sleep researcher Luc Beaudoin from Canada’s Simon Fraser University, who devised this strategy for falling asleep. “The brain’s sleep-onset control system need not know what you’re thinking or imagining.” he explains. “It just needs to notice that there is mind wandering and that there is visual imagery, as if you were hallucinating. Unless the brain is on drugs, these clues generally signal that the cortex is ready for sleep.”

In an article in The Guardian, writer Oliver Burkeman says, “The cognitive shuffle involves mentally picturing a random sequence of objects for a few seconds each: a cow; a microphone; a loaf of bread, and so on. It’s important to ensure the sequence is truly meaningless; otherwise you’ll drift back into rumination. One option is Beaudoin’s app, MySleepButton, which speaks the names of items in your ear. Another is simply to pick a word, such as ‘bedtime,’ then picture as many items beginning with ‘b’ as you can, then ‘e,’ then ‘d,’ then… Well, by then, if my experience is anything to go by, you’ll be asleep.”

I may try listening to music while thinking of random words. A cognitive shuffle with Miles Davis dealing the cards.

What interests me about this insomnia-defeating strategy is that it’s another use of created imagery in our lives, but it’s entirely mental imagery. Like photography, it’s a way of playing with things you see (or “see,” in this case) and combining them. Like photography, it has a lot of elements that you control and, especially as you’re slipping toward sleep, some that are out of your control. Like photography, it probably gets much easier with practice.

Yet, unlike photography, it’s utterly personal, so much so that the series of images you create can’t be shared with anyone else. It’s a reminder that our interior worlds affect us in so many ways, every hour we’re alive. As Professor Dumbledore famously says near the end of the final Harry Potter book, “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

Let me know if you try the cognitive shuffle. And sleep well!

 

Blogging Colour Photography Social Landscape

colour, playground, photography,
Autumn Playground, 2015                                                        © Avard Woolaver                        

I have always thought of black and white photography as an abstract medium and colour photography as a psychological medium. American photographer Elliott Erwitt said, “With colour you describe; with black and white you interpret.” If it’s true that colour appeals to our emotions and leaves less to our imagination, then it makes sense for us to be judicious in using it.

This can have a lot to do with how the photo is framed—how much of a particular colour, or colours to leave in or crop out.  When I view a scene, then, I look for ways to combine colours–for me, it’s about balance. Sometimes a tiny splash of red is enough to counteract a sea of green, or a little orange goes well with a lot of blue. There are no hard and fast rules here, but the conscious combining of colour is something to keep in mind when you’re out taking photos.

On Instagram there are dozens of filters to choose from, each giving the image a certain look, but it seems the most-used Instagram filter is “normal”–that is, roughly the colours our eye sees. And that’s good news for an old-school guy (like me!) who believes that colour is something to be observed, not added with a filter.

“Autumn Playground” appears on Photo Vogue

Colour Documentary New Topographics Observation Photography

editing, film photography, Toronto, 1983, colour, street photography,
St. Clair West, Toronto, 1983                          © Avard Woolaver    

Editing photographs takes time and patience. You’ll probably follow different strategies, depending on whether you’re working on an assignment, an exhibition, or a scrapbook. I’ve found it helpful to let some time pass before making choices. That could be a few days, months, or years. It’s important to try to lessen the emotional attachment to an image and see it as objectively as possible.

On his blog, American photographer Eric Kim tells a story of photographer O.C. Garza, who said, about a class he took with master street photographer Gary Winogrand, “He never developed film right after shooting it. He deliberately waited a year or two, so he would have virtually no memory of the act of taking an individual photograph. This, he claimed, made it easier for him to approach his contact sheets more critically. Winogrand said, ‘If I was in a good mood when I was shooting one day, then developed the film right away,’ he told us, ‘I might choose a picture because I remember how good I felt when I took it, not necessarily because it was a great shot.’” (To be clear on how meta this is: I’m quoting Kim quoting Garza, who’s quoting Winogrand. Four layers of photographers finding this a useful insight!)

The photo at the top of this blog post is perhaps a solid example of letting time pass in editing: It was taken in Little Italy in Toronto in 1983, and scanned some 33 years later. I didn’t think it was a worthy photo when I took it, but I do now. Time has given me a different perspective on the photo. Part of the reason is that I’m a better photo editor now than I was in my twenties.

In these days of social media, it seems to be a lot about instant gratification–how many likes a photo received that was taken just five minutes ago. Resisting the urge to post things immediately is sometimes difficult but rewarding.

St. Clair West, Toronto, 1983 is from the series: Toronto Days

Colour Documentary Film Photography Photography Social Landscape

* questions, Toru Ukai, interview, Japan, photographer,
Invisible Machinery #6                                        ©  Toru Ukai

Japanese photographer Toru Ukai takes photos that I find both poetic and contemplative. He looks for ways to point to deeper systems at work in modern society. I love the way his images are thought-provoking and somewhat mysterious. I asked him eight questions about his work and his current projects, and you can see more of his images on his website. Our online conversation has been lightly edited for clarity. 

 

Tell me a little about yourself. Where are you from, and where do you live now?

I was born and brought up in a city about 80 kilometres away from Tokyo. It had several industrial parks and was an important point along a route from Tokyo to the Tohoku district, the northeast of Japan. Various types of people, including Koreans, and so-called hamlet people, lived there, and occasionally some trouble happened in the local community because of inconsideration and discrimination. When I entered university, I left my hometown for Tokyo. Now I live in the suburbs of Tokyo, though I moved around from one place to another, including China, after graduating from university.

 

What subject matter attracts you, and why?

Every subject matter attracts me as far as it reflects humanity. Though I usually take pictures on the street, I’m attracted also to the natural landscape which has been personified throughout history.

 

Can you tell us about the projects you are working on these days?

Now I’m working on three projects. “Prewar Days” and “Theater Degree Zero” are identical twins based on a sense of crisis. Japan has been in the long “postwar” days as a defeated nation for more than 70 years. It seemed the postwar situation would be almost eternal. But I feel now it’s on the way out, in spite of the fact that Japan still looks peaceful. “Postwar” could be another name for “prewar” if we lost our modesty, discretion, tolerance, and interest in society. You could see the freezing cityscape–that is, isolation, fatigue, corrosion and some kind of totalitarianism–in my two projects. Nothing good or bad happens at the moment but the city is full of potential for transforming. Those two projects show the signs of crisis in a metaphorical way or occasionally in a direct way.

“Urban Shan-shui (山水)” is the newest project and mainly examines the interface between civilization/culture and nature, or their interference with each other. Sometimes a picture shows a harmonious balance between them, and sometimes the opposite. Many pictures from the project have been and will be taken outside Tokyo. In Kyoto and Nara, for instance. I hope this project shows you another side of my photography in every sense of the word.

 

What themes are you exploring in your photos?

What interests me the most is hidden and invisible structure in our modern society. The structure is working everywhere we live. Originally, it was born out of our desires, though it can often suppress and depress us. I call the structure “Invisible Machinery.” Sometimes it’s embodied in the social systems, the law and the architecture. Sometimes it appears in our own behavior, gestures and figures. “Invisible Machinery” lies in the outside and even in the inside of us. It’s invisible but the signs are everywhere around/among us. And I think a photograph can capture the invisible structure so well.

A photo is totally different from our pure eyesight. Our eyesight is dynamic and based on duration of time, that is, our life itself; on the other hand, a photo is static and excludes time/life from the whole reality in front of us. In the sense, photography is the art of death. To photograph is nothing other than to “stop.” Therefore, a photo could perceive something hidden in our daily life which is flowing continuously. Photography is a secret ceremony going back and forth between “visible” and “invisible.”

 

What’s your state of mind when you’re taking good photos? Do you think there’s any connection between your mood or mindset and the results you get?

It’s an eternal question for me. When I feel good and concentrate on taking pictures, I can get a lot of pictures easily and comfortably. But the results aren’t always good, or rather, they tend to be pretty ordinary. But on the other hand, I often get an extraordinary one when I’m totally exhausted from walking around and taking pictures. I often get it on my way back. I guess I could take good pictures without a strong desire after getting tired.

 

Your photos often seem like visual poems. Do you see this reflected in your work?

Indeed, my friends often tell me so in spite of the fact that my pictures look like straight ones or so-called street pictures at first glance. Probably, it’s because I tend to make use of the concrete subject to symbolize something hidden and invisible, as mentioned above. In a sense, my pictures are metaphors for “Invisible Machinery” and often look like visual poems. I don’t know whether it’s good or not, but my eyes catch the realities in front of me that way. It may be based on my background. After graduating from university with a degree in literature, I was engaged in editing at a publishing company and even tried to write novels. The first time I decided to be a photographer, I was nearly 50 years old. I’m not a born photographer.

 

Tell us a bit about the Unseen Photo Fair in Amsterdam and about the IBASHO Gallery in Antwerp.

Unseen Photo Fair/Festival is one of the biggest photographic events in Europe and mainly introduces emerging artists. I participated in it last September as a member of IBASHO Gallery. I was so surprised to find that straight pictures like mine were in the minority there, and they treated pictures as “fine art” in every sense of the word. Actually, the greater part of works there were abstract and manipulated ones. Additionally, some “pictures” were made without cameras. There was definitely no boundary between photographs and the other contemporary visual arts. Those pictures showed the excellent craftsmanship and, in the sense, my “street pictures” looked a bit incongruous at the fair. But I feel that sometimes those artistic pictures show the lack of a keen eye on the world. In other words, they do not photograph the realities in front of them but make the new realities which they themselves want to see. These days photography is in transition, whether it’s good or not. I can just say that it was a good experience in examining my own photography.

IBASHO Gallery specializes in Japanese photography, including pictures taken in Japan by Western photographers. It’s so enthusiastic about introducing Japanese photography to the West and incredibly energetic in holding and participating in photographic events in spite of the fact that it’s a comparatively young gallery. I think it’ll be one of the remarkable galleries in the world in the near future.

 

One final question: Can you tell me briefly about a couple of photographers I may not be familiar with yet but you would recommend checking out?

 

Shōmei Tōmatsu, Eikoh Hosoe and Masahisa Fukase. These three masters are already famous in the world. But I can’t help mentioning  them because their works embodied the spiritual climate of Japan from three different aspects. Tōmatsu’s work has social, political and historical perspectives. On the other hand, Hosoe’s work shows us his uniquely aesthetic world, and Fukase’s work tells us of his intimate connection to his surroundings. Their work shows the spiritual climate and the social situation of postwar Japan so eloquently in spite of the big differences in their photography and narratives. I think this is a result of their great insight into  society, and their critical thinking. Their collective work remains a great landmark [that I aspire to].

 

Many thanks to Toru for doing this interview. I’m so appreciative of his thoughtful answers that provide insight into his work. He has such a unique vision of the world–be sure to check out his website.

 

Colour Documentary Photography Social Media

Colour Documentary Photography Social Landscape Social Media