What can photography tell us about creativity? Freeman Patterson (1937-present) and Bruce Barnbaum (1943-present) have written good books on the subject, illustrated with their own images. I first read Patterson’s books more than a decade ago, and Barnbaum’s more recently. In this essay, I review some of their key ideas, and offer a few thoughts of my own.[1]
Freeman Patterson
Patterson is notable for his colour photography of plants and landscapes, generally shot either in his home province of New Brunswick or in Southern Africa. He has a strong sense of colour and pattern, and many of his best images verge on the abstract—sometimes, by using motion-induced blur or focusing on a tightly confined area of a larger subject.[2] He has written several books about his approach to photography, including Photography and the Art of Seeing and Photography for the Joy of It.[3]
As his starting point, Patterson emphasizes the importance of doing—stating that only through repetition and experience will the photographer develop the skills needed to capture great images.[4] Technical skills will allow the photographer to experiment with their subject, through techniques such as selective focus, long shutter speed, and low light photography.
Next, the photographer must learn to identify the symbols in their subjects, what those symbols mean to the viewer, and how the photographer would like to comment on those symbols.[5] For example, a woman dressed entirely in pale pink usually means something different to the viewer than a woman dressed entirely in black.[6] Once the photographer understands the symbols at play, they must use them to create an image that invites a response from the viewer. This involves learning to analyze the subject matter and develop a harmonious design that balances different elements of composition (light, shape, line, etc.).[7]
Patterson argues that a good photographer will have broader interests that they seek to express through their photography. (I don’t know that I am convinced of this.[8]) As he writes:
“[I]n my view, no amount of technical knowledge and competence is, of itself, sufficient to make a craftperson into an artist. That requires caring—passionate caring about ultimate things. For me there is a close connection between art and religion in the sense that both are concerned about questions of meaning—if not about the meaning of existence generally, then certainly about the meaning of one’s individual life and how a person relates to his or her total community/environment.”[9]
Above all, the photographer must remain alert to the possibilities of their subject—for example, by thinking laterally, taking advantage of chance events and approaching their subjects with an open attitude.[10] In my view, Patterson explains this more through his images than his text: his images are constantly surprising. He finds patterns written in tiny bubbles in a stream; he moves in close to photograph the petals of a flower; he moves out to show repeating patterns in a field of plants; he takes a point of view that is close to the ground or high above it; he uses beautiful light to enliven his images.
The central theme I see running through Patterson’s images is a celebration of beauty in the natural world. He uses colour, pattern, and careful composition to draw the viewer in and to create a positive emotion in them.[11] His images are so successful at this that I sometimes find it difficult to step back and analyze them rationally.
Bruce Barnbaum
Barnbaum is known for his black and white photographs of mountains and landscapes in the Western United States.[12] In an iconic series, he photographed the narrow slot canyons of Arizona, Nevada and Utah in a way that emphasized their abstract patterns and forms.[13] He also has several decades of darkroom experience, with expertise in both negatives and prints.
Barnbaum’s Art of Photography discusses photographic expression in general, as well as a variety of specialized photographic techniques.[14] I find the book particularly useful for its material on communicating through photography, rules of composition, and creativity.[15]
Communicating through photography
Barnbaum says that each photographer must ask themselves two questions: What are your interests? And, how do you respond to your interests?[16]
On the first question, the photographer must find an area in which they have strong opinions. A great image will be the product of great enthusiasm, and enthusiasm requires that the photographer work with subject matter they care about. The main body of the photographer’s work will likely be in one area, even if they wander outside it from time to time.[17] On the second question, the photographer needs to analyze how they respond to their subjects, and then photograph those subjects in ways that illustrate that response. Thus, developing your approach to photography requires both self-reflection and honing technical skills.[18]
Rules of composition
Barnbaum says that composing an image means creating a unified whole, even if that whole is complex. This requires thinking about the elements of each subject on a case-by-case basis and making the adjustments that are needed in the particular case. There are no general “rules” of composition—only consideration of how the different elements of an image should fit together to emphasize what you want to communicate. In a marvelous passage, he writes:
“Rules are foolish, arbitrary, mindless things that raise you quickly to a level of acceptable mediocrity, then prevent you from progressing further. Several of the most well-known rules—the rule of thirds, the rule of avoiding a horizon in the center of an image, the rule of having an image read from left to right, the rule of not placing the center of interest in the center of the image, and so many others—are undesirable constraints with no validity. …If your composition happens to adhere to rules, fine! If it happens to break rules, fine! Forget the rules; just make always strong images.”[19]
The key to composition is to display the relationship that exists between different parts of the subject matter and between different elements within the image: “The relationships between objects in any scene are of primary importance, but they will become even stronger if they not only relate in terms of object relationships, but also in terms of visual relationships brought about by lines, forms, colors, lighting, etc.”[20] Photography is at its strongest when it shows new relationships—such as when the subject matter in the foreground comments on subject matter in the background, or when the arrangement of compositional elements in the foreground contrasts with the arrangement of compositional elements in the background.
As an example, Barnbaum’s image What Was…What Is shows the stump of a sequoia tree, surrounded by many thin trees (none of which are sequoias) that have grown up around it.[21] The replacement forest consists of trees without the ferns, shrubs or mosses needed to support wildlife, Barnbaum writes.[22] By showing the relationship between the large stump in the foreground and the many thin trees in the background, What Was…What Is comments on the lack of sustainability in forestry practices.
Creativity
Creativity, Barnbaum writes, requires intelligence, flexibility, time, and effort, plus a commitment to ruthless selection: “passing up things that are obviously good but ordinary, and searching for things that may be good and are unusual.”[23] Often, the creative process is based on combining two variables in a way that hasn’t been tried before, or combining them more successfully than before. A key part of creativity is learning to follow your intuition, especially if it leads somewhere unexpected—this comes from having a personal connection to your subject matter and thinking deeply about different ways to depict it.[24]
Barnbaum illustrates the last point with his own experience of the slot canyons. When he first saw them, his intuition was to photograph them without reference to their scale or surroundings. As a result, his images were highly abstract, reminding him of lines of magnetic force or images of outer space.[25] While this approach was different from his past photography, he followed it in some of his future work: images of exterior walls of North American office buildings emphasizing their sterile geometry, images of the interiors of English cathedral interiors showing their organic variety of forms and patterns, and purely abstract still life images where it is difficult to identify the original subject.[26]
Conclusion
Patterson and Barnbaum say that the photographer must have enthusiasm for their subject matter, consider how they respond to their subject matter, and decide how to express their response in the finished image. They make the point that good composition means creating a harmonious whole, in which different elements work together. And they emphasize flexibility over rules of composition. Summed up, both identify interest, self-reflection, and careful consideration as the keys to photography.[27]
For my own part, I think creativity in photography involves at least five different factors.
First, creativity involves a combination of following and breaking rules. To some degree, photography is a complicated game, with a base set of interrelated rules for aperture, shutter speed and ISO, and with a series of additional rule sets for composition (focus, symbols, light, form, line, etc.). Creativity can occur when you decide to bend a rule (by over- or under-exposing) or to break one completely (by not focusing on the feature of interest, or by working against, rather than with, the symbols in your image). As Arthur Koestler observes, creativity can occur when you combine two unrelated rule sets in a new or unusual way.[28] (Barnbaum makes a similar point.[29]) As an example, Edward Weston applied the principles of portrait photography to a vegetable in order to create his famous pepper image.[30]
Second, creativity involves a mix of divergent and convergent thinking to solve problems.[31] Using divergent thinking, the photographer considers many possible approaches to their subject: they can arrange their shot high or low, close or far, and above, below, in front of, behind or possibly through their subject. (This is similar to Patterson’s lesson that you must remain alert to the possibilities of your subject.[32]) Once the photographer has their list of possible approaches, they use convergent thinking to select their favoured approach, and seek to improve it. For example, once you’ve decided the best shot is from above, you will think through further details like the best angle and best background for your final shot.[33]
Third, as Patterson notes, creativity usually involves an element of chance or luck.[34] The best photographs are the result of unusual and unpredictable events, such as when a bird suddenly flies across the side of a building, or the wind blows a flower in a particular way.[35] Mistakes play a key role in creating the unexpected: for example, you might choose the wrong camera setting and then decide you like the image better that way.[36] The fact that chance plays a key role in creativity means that skill and experience do not guarantee a creative image. However, skill and experience may lead to behaviours that increase your odds of capturing the creative event, such as preparation and patience.
Fourth, creativity occurs when the photographer realizes that something special is about to happen, and then takes steps to preserve—and, if possible—repeat, extend and improve it. This is what happened when Barnbaum saw his first slot canyon.[37] Alternately, this might be pressing the shutter button at the time of Henri Cartier-Bresson’s decisive moment, recognizing the potential of a particular landscape and returning to it under better lighting conditions, or deciding not to delete an image from your camera’s memory card.[38] As above, skill and experience do not guarantee the creative event but may make the photographer more likely to recognize it. On the other hand, skill and experience can work against creativity, by leading the photographer to focus too much on what has worked in the past.
Fifth, creativity is associated with particular mental states.[39] When editing my images, I often enter a state of intense concentration, accompanied by a lack of awareness of time passing or events going on around me. Psychologists have called this the “flow” state and identified it as a key factor for creative work in fields as diverse as music and sports.[40] As a friend who plays bass guitar explained it, the flow state is place where you become part of the creative task and feel as if you are in harmony with something bigger than yourself.[41] On the other hand, when I am taking photographs in the field, I have a different state of mind: often, one of attentiveness and openness to the environment. (This seems similar to the state of “relaxed attentiveness” discussed by Patterson.[42])
In summary, I think that creativity involves a mix of factors that are both within and outside the photographer’s control. Skill and experience may increase the chances that the photographer will recognize and capture a creative possibility, but do not assure success. And I think the emphasis that Patterson and Barnbaum place on creating a harmonious image may sometimes be a trap.[43] Creativity is not necessarily harmonious—in my experience, it can be messy, discontinuous, fragmentary and annoying. Focusing too narrowly on harmony may blind you to a key creative moment.
Posted: December 2021; endnotes updated June 2022.
For Further Information
Freeman Patterson
Patterson’s website at www.freemanpatterson.com provides a good cross-section of his work, as well as a biography and an artistic statement.
Selected Books
Freeman Patterson, Photography for the Joy of It (New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1977; revised edition: Toronto: Key Porter Books, 1989; fourth edition: Richmond Hill, Ontario: Firefly Books, 2011).
Freeman Patterson, Photography and the Art of Seeing (New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1979; revised edition: Toronto: Key Porter Books, 1989).
Freeman Patterson, Photography of Natural Things (New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1982; revised edition: Toronto: Key Porter Books, 1989).
Bruce Barnbaum
Barnbaum’s website at www.barnbaum.com has a selection of his black and white and colour photography and two of his essays.
Books
Bruce Barnbaum, The Art of Photography: A Personal Approach to Artistic Expression (Santa Barbara, CA: Rocky Nook, 1994; second edition, 2010).
Bruce Barnbaum, The Essence of Photography: Seeing and Creativity (Santa Barbara, CA: Rocky Nook, 2015; second edition 2021).
Endnotes
| ↑1 | This essay will be somewhat longer and more abstract than other essays on this website. I’ve tried to include a variety of pithy comments and links to images in these endnotes to balance out some of the theory. |
|---|---|
| ↑2 | See, for example, The Storm Rock, Garden Galaxy, and Winter Forest. I also like Patterson’s photographs of Kohlmanskop, Namibia, where waves of sand are invading abandoned homes: see, for example, Kohlmanskop VII. |
| ↑3 | Freeman Patterson, Photography and the Art of Seeing, Fourth Edition (Richmond Hill, Ontario: Firefly Books, 2011) and Freeman Patterson and Andre Gallant, Photography for the Joy of It, Fourth Edition (Toronto: Key Porter Books, 2007). |
| ↑4 | Patterson and Gallant, Photography for the Joy of It, supra note 3, at 106-107. |
| ↑5 | See Patterson, Photography and the Art of Seeing, supra note 3, at 64-82, and Patterson and Gallant, Photography for the Joy of It, supra note 3, at 83-100. When Patterson talks about symbols, he is speaking broadly of subjects, shapes and colours that have special meanings to people. “Through a picture of a drooping willow tree (subject matter), a photographer can convey sadness (subject or theme). However, it is not simply the photographer’s technique, nor the viewer’s interpretation of the tree, that creates sadness. There is something inherent in the tree or, more accurately, in the drooping lines, that is analogous with what we understand sadness to be.” (Patterson, Photography and the Art of Seeing, supra note 3, at 67.) |
| ↑6 | See Patterson, Photography and the Art of Seeing, supra note 3, at 129, where he writes: “Viewers will respond to the photographs in very different ways, and since the only difference is in the colour of the woman’s dress, the difference can be attributed entirely to what each colour symbolizes. The woman in pink will probably be considered happy or serene, enjoying the flowers and fresh air; the same woman dressed in black may seem unhappy or in mourning.” |
| ↑7 | Much of Patterson’s writing discusses elements of composition and how they can be used to design an image. He emphasizes harmony and unity: “No matter how intricate or complex a photographic composition may be, the maker has the responsibility of organizing the details so the function of each one is integrated into the whole.” (Patterson and Gallant, Photography for the Joy of It, supra note 3, at 86.) |
| ↑8 | This argument suggests that a good photographer must be a particular type of person. I think it is entirely possible that a photographer could have a shallow interest in their subject matter and no interest in the meaning of their life, yet still produce a great photograph. I find Patterson’s writing soothing and sometimes think that he gets away with questionable assumptions because they get hidden by his comfortable prose style. Elsewhere, he writes: “Nature observes the rule of simplicity, which means that nothing in nature is more complex than it has to be in order to fulfil its particular function. Since human beings are part of nature, they are also controlled by the rule of simplicity. Our eyes see things in their simplest possible form; they perceive natural order and tend to reject unnatural arrangement, or to correct it unconsciously.” (Patterson, Photography and the Art of Seeing, supra note 3, at 60.) Is it true that nature observes the rule of simplicity? Nature seems full of remarkably complicated structures and systems: consider the structure of the human lung or the many different species of ants. Do our eyes perceive things in the simplest possible form, according to some natural order? Or does our brain filter what we see based on our individual experience and biases, so that different people will pay attention to different parts of the same scene? Patterson’s unstated assumption here is that each part of nature has been designed using an organizing principle of simplicity; a scientist might argue that organisms have evolved over time to fit different ecological niches, through trial and error, and not always in the simplest or most elegant ways. |
| ↑9 | See “Art Statement” on Patterson’s website at http://www.freemanpatterson.com/art_statement.htm. |
| ↑10 | For thoughts on lateral thinking, appreciating chance events and taking an open approach to subjects, see: Patterson, Photography and the Art of Seeing, supra note 3, at 25-52. On the first point, Patterson writes that photographers should use “thinking sideways” to view their subjects in new ways; he then gives a series of exercises for the reader to try (e.g., make a series of photographs where the main subject is out of focus). On the second point, he writes that photographers should be sensitive to happy accidents that might hold the seeds to new ideas they can develop in their work. On the third point, he advises photographers to adopt an approach of “relaxed attentiveness” to their subjects—a state of close observation that is free of external tension or worries. By taking this approach, the photographer will develop new powers of observation and imagination, which will improve their images. |
| ↑11 | See, for example, these beautiful images of flowers: Champage, Cover Girl, and Meadow Dance. |
| ↑12 | For a gallery of Barnbaum’s black and white landscape photographs, see: https://www.barnbaum.com/portfolio-bw-landscapes. Apart from the landscape photographs, my favourite Barnbaum images are The Beggar Woman, Cathedral Metropolitana, for its use of perspective and light, Lay Brothers’ Refectory, Fountains Abbey, for its use of perspective and texture, and Desert Trumpet, for its mix of simplicity and complexity. |
| ↑13 | For a selection of Barnbaum’s slot canyon photographs, see https://www.barnbaum.com/portfolio-bw-slit-canyons. Note that Barnbaum uses the term “slit canyons”, while I use the more common term “slot canyons” in this essay. |
| ↑14 | Bruce Barnbaum, The Art of Photography: A Personal Approach to Artistic Expression, Second Edition (Santa Barbara, CA: Rocky Nook, 2010). |
| ↑15 | This essay deals with only a fraction of Barnbaum’s book, which consists of three main parts. In the first part, Barnbaum discusses communicating through photography, elements of composition, visualizing finished images, and the importance of light and colour. In the second part, he turns to the Zone System, specialized techniques for negative development and printing, and digital photography including RAW processing and image manipulation. In the final part, he discusses myths of photography, approaches to creativity and how to develop a personal philosophy. |
| ↑16 | Barnbaum, Art of Photography, supra note 14, Chapter 1. |
| ↑17 | I don’t know if agree with this statement: some photographers show an ability to photograph a very broad range of subjects well. Jay Maisel’s recent work depicts people, buildings, signs, trash, cars, trees, and other things he finds in New York City (see https://www.jaymaisel.com/). Is Maisel a “city photographer”? Is this a useful characterization? Would it be accurate, given the many beautiful nature images that Maisel has also produced? |
| ↑18 | Barnbaum’s discussion of communicating through photography resembles Patterson’s discussion of how the photographer should identify their response to the subject and then find ways to express that response. The authors have different writing styles but set out many similar ideas. |
| ↑19 | Barnbaum, Art of Photography, supra note 14, Chapter 3, under the heading “Rules, Formulas, and Other Problems and Pitfalls”. This quotation provides a strong rebuttal to the approach taken in most books about photographic composition, which inevitably begin by discussing the rule of thirds. It also reminds me a little of George Orwell’s famous discussion of the five rules for good writing, which he ends with a sixth, overriding rule: “Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.” (George Orwell, “Politics and the English Language” in Sonia Orwell and Ian Angos (editors), The collected essays, journalism and letters of George Orwell, Fourth Volume, First Edition (New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1968), 127-140 at 139.) |
| ↑20 | Barnbaum, Art of Photography, supra note 14, Chapter 16, under the heading “Prerequisites for Creativity”. |
| ↑21 | For a copy of What Was…What Is, see Barnbaum, Art of Photography, supra note 14, Chapter 1. As another example, Barnbaum discusses how his image Fallen Sequoias uses line and tone. The line of the diagonally slanted sequoia that dominates the image is echoed by the lines of the fallen branches in the lower right-hand corner; these diagonal lines, in turn, contrast with the vertical lines of the trees in the background. The lighter lines and tones of the trees in the background receding into the fog, and their horizontal branches, provide variety to the strong vertical lines and dark tones of the large sequoias in the foreground. (See Barnbaum, Art of Photography, supra note 14, Chapter 3, under the heading “Relationships”.) |
| ↑22 | Barnbaum, Art of Photography, supra note 14, Chapter 1. Barnbaum adds: “Timber companies say, ‘there are more trees in America than ever before’, and they’re right; yet it is an utterly deceptive claim.” |
| ↑23 | Barnbaum, Art of Photography, supra note 14, Chapter 16, under the heading “Prerequisites for Creativity”. |
| ↑24 | On the topic of following one’s intuition even if it leads in an unexpected direction, Barnbaum has occasionally used darkroom techniques to create “imaginary landscapes” by combining two separate negatives. For example, he has combined an image of sand dunes in the foreground with an image with mountains in the background, and joined an image of a slot canyon with an image of a man-made corridor (for the latter image, see Corridors). He acknowledges that others consider these images controversial, particularly when they are displayed alongside his usual landscape images. In his own defence, he writes: “Painters unquestionably have the right to create their own fantasy landscapes purely from imagination. I ask for the same right to be granted to photographers.” (Barnbaum, Art of Photography, supra note 14, Chapter 14.) I’m not convinced by Barnbaum’s arguments here and, while his imaginary images are skillfully done, I find them annoying. I don’t think photography is the same as painting; photography necessarily relies on found material, even if that material can be manipulated at the time of shooting or later in editing. The viewer (legitimately) expects that a photograph is of a real thing, unless they have been warned otherwise. While I acknowledge some degree of image manipulation is part of the photographer’s toolkit, my problem here is that Barnbaum’s main work consists of powerful, realistic images; I think he undermines that work by treating his imaginary landscapes as equivalent. |
| ↑25 | See, for example, Barnbaum, Art of Photography, supra note 14, Chapter 1, under the heading “Enthusiasm”, where he writes: “I see the gracefully sweeping lines of the slit canyons as metaphors of cosmic forces made visible, as if we could see gravitational or electromagnetic lines of force.” |
| ↑26 | Barnbaum, Art of Photography, supra note 14, Chapter 16, under the headings “Prerequisites for Creativity”, “Producing Something New—Its Real Importance”, and “Be Prepared for Imagination, Innovation, and Creativity”. For some of Barnbaum’s images of English cathedral interiors, see https://www.barnbaum.com/portfolio-man-man-made. For some of Barnbaum’s abstract images, see: Striations & Reflections, Coyote Buttes; Crystalline Ice, North Cascade Mountains; and Ghosts and Masks. |
| ↑27 | On the other hand, I see clear differences in their approaches to photography. Patterson is a master of using colour and compositional elements to express emotion. His images create a response linking his images to his viewers; as noted, I find this response tends to overwhelm my ability to analyze his images. Barnbaum’s strength is his black and white photography, with its emphasis on contrast and tonality. Barnbaum’s images tend to create interest for the viewer through intellectual puzzles—for example, the viewer’s appreciation of the complex patterns on the ceiling of a cathedral, or the viewer’s desire to guess the original subject that formed the basis for a mostly abstract still life. I wonder if Patterson’s and Barnbaum’s different approaches can be attributed in part to their different backgrounds. In the 1960s, Patterson worked as the dean of religious studies at an Edmonton college and later at the United Church of Canada’s photography production house in Toronto. Many of Patterson’s photographs and much of his writing seem motivated by spiritual thoughts or concerns. Barnbaum earned a bachelor’s and master’s degree in mathematics and held a job in missile guidance computer programming, before he turned to photography after backpacking in the Sierra Nevada mountains. He credits his interest in abstraction in part to his appreciation of science and physics. One point of convergence between the two is a strong interest in environmentalism: Patterson served as a trustee of the Nature Conservancy of Canada, a non-profit corporation that seeks to protect natural lands, and Barnbaum served on the board of directors of the Angeles chapter of the Sierra Club. |
| ↑28 | Arthur Koestler, The Act of Creation (London: Hutchison & Co., 1964). Koestler’s famous book proposes that creativity in humour, literature and science is the act of perceiving an idea “in two self-consistent but incompatible frames of reference at the same time”. Thus, human creativity takes the form of recombining existing material, rather than creating something entirely original. As one reviewer summarized Koestler’s ideas in Scientific American: “Our knowledge and skills are organized according to rules into autonomous, coherent subsystems that Koestler calls ‘matrices’. These matrices represent habitual responses to routine problems; our minds normally function by the association of elements within a single matrix. Sometimes our habitual associations are ‘blocked.’ Unblocking requires that we recognize some element as the same (or similar) in two different and previously unrelated matrices; Koestler calls this recognition ‘bisociation’. Bisociation creates an analogy that may be amusing, enlightening or inspiring according to its emotional context, and it enables us to bring a new matrix of skills to bear on a problem. Because bisociation cuts across habitual modes of thinking we cannot make it happen, but we can let it happen by relaxing our conscious awareness of the rules, as we do in reverie or sleep.” (George A. Miller, “Arthur Koestler’s view of the creative process,” Scientific American, 211, No. 5 (November 1964), 145-149 at 145.) I’ve only read summaries of Koestler’s 750-page book; its ideas seem broad-ranging and more than a little out of control. As another reviewer wrote in a somewhat snooty New York Times review: “It is admittedly big and untidy, and cannot easily be read straight through.” (Loren Eiseley, “The Genesis of Genius” in The New York Times Book Review (Oct. 18, 1964), 3, 40-41 at 41.) |
| ↑29 | Barnbaum, Art of Photography, supra note 14, Chapter 16, under the heading “Prerequisites for Creativity” (also mentioned in the body of this essay under the heading “Creativity”). |
| ↑30 | Black and white photographer Edward Weston shot a series of still life images of peppers, nautilus shells, and cabbages between 1927 and 1930, with the most famous being Pepper No. 30 (1930). Critics have noted the pepper resembles a human nude—that, for example, “the curves and folds of the pepper suggest the flesh and sensuous contours of a human torso” (https://www.artic.edu/artworks/120846/pepper). I don’t know whether Weston consciously applied portrait techniques when he shot the pepper, but it looks like he might have. For a gallery of some of Weston’s images, including the pepper, see https://edward-weston.com/edward-weston/. |
| ↑31 | Robert J. Sternberg writes that problem solving involves two main types of thinking: “convergent, in which one tries to narrow down multiple possibilities to find a single, best answer to a problem” and “divergent, in which one tries to generate a diverse assortment of possible alternative solutions to a problem”. (See the Encyclopedia Britannica entry for “Thought” available at https://www.britannica.com/topic/thought.) Arthur Cropley discusses these two types of thinking as follows: “Convergent thinking is oriented towards deriving the single best (or correct) answer to a clearly defined question. It emphasizes speed, accuracy, logic, and the like, and focuses on recognizing the familiar, reapplying set techniques, and accumulating information. It is thus most effective in situations where a ready-made answer exists and needs simply to be recalled from stored information, or worked out from what is already known by applying conventional and logical search, recognition and decision-making strategies. One of the most important aspects of convergent thinking is that it leads to a single best answer, and thus leaves no room for ambiguity: Answers are either right or wrong. Convergent thinking is also intimately linked to knowledge: On the one hand, it involves manipulation of existing knowledge by means of standard procedures, and on the other, its main result is production of increased knowledge. Divergent thinking, by contrast, involves producing multiple or alternative answers from available information. It requires making unexpected combinations, recognizing links among remote associates, transforming information into unexpected forms, and the like. Answers to the same question arrived at via divergent thinking may vary substantially from person to person, but be of equal value. They may never have existed before, and are often thus novel, unusual or surprising. Sometimes this is true merely in the experience of the person producing the variability in question, or for the particular setting, but it may also be true in an absolute sense.” (See Arthur Cropley, “In Praise of Convergent Thinking,” Creativity Research Journal, 18, no. 3 (2006): 391-404.) The concept of divergent thinking was developed by J.P. Guildford in the 1950s and 1960s and later became closely associated with creativity and with testing for creative potential in individuals. However, as Mark Runco and Selcuk Acar write, divergent thinking is not the same as creative thinking. “Divergent thinking often leads to originality, and originality is the central feature of creativity, but someone can do well on a test of divergent thinking and never actually perform in a creative fashion.” (See Mark A. Runco and Selcuk Acar, “Divergent Thinking as an Indicator of Creative Potential,” Creativity Research Journal, 24, no. 1 (2012): 66-75.) |
| ↑32 | In one passage, Patterson describes how he used divergent thinking to photograph spider webs in the bushes and grasses behind his house: “To begin, I placed my camera to one side of a web and focused on the nearest edge. I also switched from maximum to minimum depth of field. Instead of architecture, I saw jewels—at last I was seeing a web the way I felt about it. … Next, I crawled underneath a web and shot up at it (no easy matter, I discovered, after destroying several webs!). Later, I hauled my close-up equipment out of the closet—extension tubes, close-up lenses, and what-have-you, and started using them in combinations that I’d never tried before.” (Patterson, Photography and the Art of Seeing, supra note 3, at 25-26.) |
| ↑33 | Another way to appreciate the difference between divergent and convergent thinking is to consider the different skills involved in shooting a subject and editing the images. When shooting a subject, the photographer will try to capture a variety of approaches to the subject, so that a full range of possibilities is captured on their memory card. When editing the images, the photographer will employ a different type of skill set: narrowing down the many possible images to one image, then making adjustments to the chosen image to improve it. |
| ↑34 | See: Patterson, Photography and the Art of Seeing, supra note 3, at 28-30. |
| ↑35 | For an example of a chance event leading to one of my own photographs, see 1. Building, Bird and Sky in Colour 2016-2017. |
| ↑36 | For example, I chose the wrong storage setting for this photograph, but decided the lower-quality JPEG format actually enhanced it by further simplifying it: 21. Condominium in Blue in Colour 2019-2020. |
| ↑37 | As Barnbaum writes: “Had I not wandered into Antelope Canyon and then rappelled into Lower Antelope Canyon (long before it became a tourist attraction), I could not have imagined this imagery.” (Barnbaum, Art of Photography, supra note 14, Chapter 16, under the heading “Prerequisites for Creativity”.) |
| ↑38 | Henri Cartier-Bresson (1908-2004) was famous for his street photography, his sense of timing, and his book The Decisive Moment (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1952). He explained his photographic approach to The Washington Post in 1957: “There is a creative fraction of a second when you are taking a picture. Your eye must see a composition or an expression that life itself offers you, and you must know with intuition when to click the camera. That is the moment the photographer is creative.” (Adam Bernstein, “The Acknowledged Master of the Moment” in The Washington Post (August 5, 2004), A01.) |
| ↑39 | In addition to the states of flow and attentiveness discussed in my essay, there is the long tradition of artists taking alcohol or drugs to enhance creativity. As one example, Aldous Huxley describes his experience taking peyote (a hallucinogenic with effects similar to LSD) in The Doors of Perception (1954). Huxley asserts that the human mind develops structures to control the senses and filter the world so that we can go about our day-to-day business, and that peyote opens these doors of perception. |
| ↑40 | Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi has discussed the flow state in academic articles and popular books. Describing some of the key characteristics of this state, he writes: “In general, flow occurs when you believe you have the skills necessary to overcome a challenging situation. Your perception of time warps as your attention narrows to the task at hand. This attention is so sharply focused on the task at hand that all extraneous thoughts and anxieties disappear.” (See Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, Philip Latter and Christine Weinkauff Duranso, Running Flow: Mental Immersion Techniques for Better Running (Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics, 2017) at 6.) According to Csikszentmihalyi, the flow state has nine main elements: “1. There are clear goals every step of the way. 2. There is immediate feedback to one’s actions. 3. There is a balance between challenges and skill. 4. Action and awareness are merged. 5. Distractions are excluded from consciousness. 6. There is no worry of failure. 7. Self-consciousness disappears. 8. The sense of time becomes distorted. 9. The activity becomes autotelic [i.e., an end in itself].” (See Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, Creativity: Flow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention (New York: HarperCollins, 1996, at Chapter 5 under the heading “What Is Enjoyment?”) The flow state builds on earlier concepts from Abraham Maslow (1908-1970), who believed that individuals, after satisfying basic needs, would seek to achieve their full potential through a process called self-actualization. As part of self-actualization, individuals might experience moments of profound understanding, euphoria and connection with the larger world (see Csikszentmihalyi, Running Flow, at 8-9). |
| ↑41 | Thanks to my friend Azam Dawood for these insightful comments, which I agree with. When I am in a flow state I don’t think about myself, only how to assess and adjust the image. As well, I have a feeling that I am part of something bigger than myself—a mental place that also belongs to other photographers and artists. |
| ↑42 | See Patterson, Photography and the Art of Seeing, supra note 3, at 36-52 (also discussed above in endnote 10). |
| ↑43 | I wonder whether Patterson and Barnbaum emphasize harmony and balance to some extent because they are nature photographers who prize harmony and balance in their own images. For contrast, it would have been interesting to consider the views of someone who photographs conflict, such as a war correspondent. |