Or, why photographs are not that useful (for artists).
I'm often asked, while painting en plein-air, whether I copy photographs or not. The answer is: No, because photographs are not that useful
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I'm an enthusiastic and (I think) reasonable photographer. My first big spend as a youngster was on a 'proper' through-the-lens camera.
Back in the day, my art course included photography and dark room studies. That's what prompted a raid on my savings for a camera.
More recently, some lovely people paid for a one-to-one photography workshop for a landmark birthday. The very able professional photographer taught me lots about the technical side of shooting landscapes.
I've acquired quite a bit of kit over time too. Two decent cameras – four if you count my still servicable original one, and the one I gave away; three tripods, plus remotes, flash guns, and several lenses and sets of filters.
Though none of it (except one lens maybe) is mega expensive, I've invested a fair amount over the years. My excuse is that I need it to photograph my art. Truth is, I enjoy making pictures in all mediums.
There is something else I should declare too, and that is: I've lots of skills using photo editing software. I've even worked as a professional photo editor/retoucher, and still do occasionally. So I know all the fancy things you can do with photographs once you get them out of the camera and on to a computer.
Telling you all this explains my knowledge of, and love for, both worlds – the world of painting and the world of photography. Both are art, so what's not to love?
The oddness of copying photos
As an artist, I find it strange that we think photographs are the most 'true' way to show a landscape. They are not, they are flawed too. This is why photos aren't that useful for artists.
I've explained I'm a photography enthusiast. So those inclined to think I'm attacking photography are mistaken. Photography is a wonderful artistic medium.
Every art medium has strengths and flaws. Each medium is different, rather than better or worse than. And each is prized for it's unique qualities.
Asking if I copy photographs when painting is an odd question to me. It's a bit like asking "do you copy watercolour when you're painting oils?"
I suspect the general public think copying photographs means the artist is not that good, truth be told. Are they really asking, "Do you cheat by copying photographs?" That's an equally odd question to me.
In early art schools (and perhaps some modern ones), trainee artists were made to copy old masters paintings. Have photographs simply replaced that, perhaps?
Copying the colour mix and application of paint from another painting, along with composition and lighting, teaches a great deal. I've done it, and it's difficult.
Copying photographs is much less valuable, and it may even stifle creative problem solving in my opinion. It's why I don't recommend it.
Photo realist art that's a copy of a photograph is also an odd one to me. I don't see the point of turning a photograph into paint. Just my personal viewpoint, not a judgement.
Even as reference material(1), photos have their limitations, which I explain below. So copying them limits an artist, and that's as compelling a reason as any for why I don't copy photographs.
How I use photography when I'm making art
Of all the reference material I collect for a painting or linocut, photographs are the least important when making the art. So why do I bother with photos at all?
An outdoor tool
On almost every plein-air sketching or painting trip, I take a trusty camera.
It's purpose is to record the scene I'm sketching or painting. It's also there to photograph my activities for social media, and this website.
In truth, every expedition out and about in the landscape tends to include a camera.
Taking note
I'm often on trips where stopping to sketch is not possible or considerate, for one reason or another. When I don't think I'll have time to sketch, I take my camera instead of a sketchbook.
A camera takes a second to note something, and I can't beat that with a sketchbook, sadly. Photographing a scene is a quick and powerful way to note future plein‑air art locations.
Research and study
As well as photographs as records or notes of subjects to paint, they're a resource to study too. Interesting composition, lighting and colour scheme ideas for example.
A studio back‑up
When I start developing a painting or print in the studio, photographs are not that useful. When they're needed, they're valuable.
I'm going to be really clear here: I do not copy photographs. They're too flawed, and don't always help.
Photographs are a back‑up in the studio. They're for when I need to check a detail, or jog my memory. Here's three examples:
One - My sketch of a lighthouse shows windows in certain positions throughout its height. There seems to be a pencil mark that looks like another window. I'm not convinced it is, because it looks accidental and my memory says it's not. Quick check of the record photo confirms there's no window there.
Two - I've smudged a plein‑air oil painting when packing the car! It's an iron gate I've smudged. I think I can remember it was a plain one, but was there a small emblem on it? I don't have a sketch of it. I can answer the question with a quick look at the photo, and restore the painting.
Three - Bamburgh Castle is a three hour journey away. I remember the dune grass rippled in different directions. I'm designing a linocut inspired by this, but the point it changed direction is too unclear in my sketch.
The informational flaws of one medium can be mitigated by another.
My art is not highly detailed in the way photo realist art is, but you'd be surprised how often I need to check things all the same.
Three flaws in the lens
Here's three technical reasons, why photographs are not that useful for artists.
In the dark with photos
This is the easiest to explain.
A camera has one setting per photo where light is concerned. Technically that one setting is made up of several settings (shutter speed, aperture, sensitivity, etc). But that one set of settings applies to the whole photograph.
Our eyes, in contrast, adjust their settings as we scan a scene. We see the detail in the deep shadows and the same amount of detail in the brightest areas too.
Too much light, not enough tone
In photographs of bright scenes, the shadows are often very black with virtually no detail in them. It depends on the photographer of course, but no matter how good they are, they're compromising.
A photographer has more jam than their jar will take. So all they can do is decide which bit of the jam to leave out. The detail in the shadows or the detail in the sunny parts.
It's the detail in the bright areas that often wins, and is kept, while detail in the shadows is lost.
Photographers only way to avoid the problem is with tripods, multiple photos and photoediting. It's why some of them avoid very sunny scenes.
Moving flaws
So photographs are not useful when needing to see what's in the shadows. Copying those dark featureless shadows into a painting moves photography's flaws into art.
Photos with bright areas 'blown' (over exposed in order to put detail in the shadows) are no better and in some ways worse.
I often see paintings that are copies of photos with this photography problem reproduced in them.
Sketches and paintings made from the scene directly are much more useful. All the important detail in the shadows, the highlights, and the inbetween areas, will be there to refer to.
Detail, detail, and detailed‑detail
Another way in which photos are not that useful is that there is too much detail, over every cm/inch of the picture. In fact, they can be quite hard to work with because of this.
With photographs, everything is in the same amount of detail. A photographer can adjust something called focal depth so that far away or near things are blurred, but it's crude compared to our eyes (and brain).
A camera lens has no sense of importance
I won't go into the science here, but the design of our eyes means only a relatively small part of what we look at is detailed. The rest of our sight is not blurred (as often claimed), but less detailed.
Good artists create what's called emphasis(1) in their art. They add or remove the amount of detail in degrees over the expanse of their artwork. There are other things they can do as well – too many to get sidetracked with here.
Seeing the wood for trees
Trying to decide how much detail to remove when painting from a photograph is the hard way to do it.
Photos are just not very useful here. When infront of a scene with a sketchbook, an artist manages the amount of detail automatically.
An artist has an innate sense of what's important in the view, where a camera doesn't.
With everything of equal detail in a photo, it's easier just to paint it all in. It can mean there's no emphasis in the painting(2) and it's not obvious why the painting was made. Again, this is often a hallmark of paintings copied from photographs.
Finally, there's no licence butto on a camera
This is the most difficult to explain. It's also something that's key to my own art.
So forgive me if I'm repeating something you've seen elsewhere on this website.
Cameras take a snapshot, in one position in one second. We humans don't do that. We turn our heads looking around, and even move bodily – to peer at something for example.
Our brain adds together everything we've selected to look at, to create our visual impression, experience and memory. You could say we all select, organise and combine what we see.
I have a recollection of someone commenting that she'd taken up photography because her husbands photographs of the same places bore no relation to her visual impression. She didn't understand why, but I think you might given my explanation of how we look at things.
Artists strive to capture the world as experienced by human beings, not cameras. It's what I do anyway.
It involves deciding what to include and how to organise a painting or drawing, to combine impressions and things of importance. It's called using 'artistic licence', and 'composition'.
Cameras don't have an 'artistic license' or 'composition' button, that I know of. The artistic license and composition that a photographer can apply is much more limited than an artist's. And it's a long way away from how we see the world.
Creative limits
While trees can be moved, shrunk, enlarged or deleted using photo editing software, it's rarely an easy exercise. For an artist, it is, relatively speaking.
When out sketching and painting, an artist will apply artistic license automatically. The moment they decide which bit to draw first, they're composing their picture.
If an artist wants to distort something, they may have to fill-in a bit of extra background as a result. For example, if an artist doesn't want to include a tree from the scene in their art, they just lean or move temporarily to see what's behind it, and draw that instead.
With a photograph, there's no knowing what's behind the tree, unless you've been there. Without another photo, it's very hard to fill the hole the tree will leave by not painting it in. Photographs are not very useful when you want to be creative with the design of your artwork.
Summary
It boils down to this for me. I don't see the point of copying photos. Photos are flawed anyway, so why bring those flaws into art? We don't see like cameras, and I'm trying to capture how humans see. An impossibly quest perhaps, but there we are.