Unseen.
By Jen Gallardo
23 Sep 2009
I tend to be a perfectionist. The word perfect means being complete of its kind and without defect or blemish. Who doesn't want to be complete? And without blemish? I can't stand blemishes; like the kind that crop up on your face when you are stressed or the one little detail that ruins hours of effort. I definitely try to be perfect, but acknowledge that it is a futile pursuit.
In terms of my photos, I always try to get the perfect shot. The best composition, the pin sharp focus, the right color temperature, and etcetera. And when I'm shooting people, I always try to pick their best angles and not highlight photos that could be considered unflattering. Truthfully, I've deleted many a photo because they didn't fall in line with what I considered to be "perfect." My rationale comes from a good place. I need to be able to edit myself and not put forth inferior work -- and when it comes to photos of people, I want them to be happy, of course!
But I've started to realize that perfection is definitely relative. A few years ago I received a photo book for Christmas. The book is called "Unseen" and is a collection of unreleased photos by the photographer Elliott Erwitt. The photos seem natural and personal -- but are not "perfect" by standard definitions. They have a special something to them.
They capture a moment in time. And given that a photographer has a very limited window (and often times limited access) in which to get the shot, sometimes all you need is to capture the moment, as best you can. The barriers and imperfections can speak to the moment, rather than distract from it. One photo in particular from "Unseen" that illustrates this point is of a tank rolling through Moscow in 1957. The frame is obscured by shadowy figures in the foreground who appear to be standing right in front of the photographer. The obstruction gives the photo more political weight as you begin to think of the tank's implications on those in its path.
And other times, these furtive glances into moments are the best ways to convey a feeling. Looking at some of Erwitt's photos from Jones Beach here in New York makes me remember summers past and the unabashed joy that comes from running through the hot sand and into the cold frigid waters. Sometimes a photo can help one stop and remember the little pleasures of life, even if the photo is a tad underexposed.
So with the photos in this note, I'm presenting you with some of my "unseens." And, in Erwitt fashion, I've made them all black and white (as I shoot in digital, my photos are always color first and then processed b&w). For some of these photos, I found that making them black and white helped evoke a meaning that I had never intended and some emotions I never expected to get from them.
