Just Chillin' by P. J. Hatfield
I must confess to having a geeky partiality for wildlife photography. As much as I enjoy a number of things in life, there is something deeply satisfying about throwing on my waterproof jacket and heading out to take some photos of the birds at London's Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust site in Barnes. One of the reasons for this is that once upon a time I wanted to be a Zoologist (I am, alas, crap at molecular biology. This proved a hinderance), the other reason is that I find photographing birds and other animals both rewarding and relaxing. However, while I sit in a hide or stroll around the paths I am struck by the fact that, unlike many of my co-photographers on site, I cannot call myself a wildlife photographer in the way they can. This is because I do not look the part: dressed in my Superdry waterproof as oppose to a wax jacket (to name but one sartorial faux-pas) I look like a towny.
So far, so simplistic, but the point goes a little deeper than this. What piques my interest is not the fact that I don't fit but the fact that this reminds me of just how important the performance of the photographer is in making the photograph itself meaningful. If you think about it this is true across all levels of photography, especially in the upper eschelons of photographic professionalism. In the spheres of art and fashion photography the behaviour, dress and social circle of the photographer are a few examples of how the performance behind the lens adds value to the photographic image. Take Andy Warhol or Terry Richardson as an example and you see that their trademark interactions with subjects and models are as much part of the viewer's framework of understanding the image as the contents of the image itself (and Richardson's habit of stripping down to match his models seems somewhat, although not totally, appropriate as an example here).
Preparing for Spring by P. J. Hatfield
Within the context of wildlife photography it is important to consider the significance of such behaviour too. Take Mark Cawardine as an example, he takes some beautiful images of the most endangered animals on the planet but his behaviour behind the lens contributes to making the images exceptional. Cawardine looks and acts the part, swanning around Africa, the Amazon, Asia and so on like a modern day Stanley or Raffles. He has the entourage, the equipment and perhaps the disproportionate belief in the importance getting such images to place him with the colonial camera men of the nineteenth century. This, in turn, adds significance to his images - the endeavour of the expedition and the hardship endured makes that image more meaningful and perhaps even makes the animal seem rarer. None of this is to be anti the man, the image or the motive, but it is important to understand the historical significance (and I'll write more about this in the next post).
For now we should return to the less grand frontier of Barnes. Here too we perceive the importance of performance to the image - even if this performance cannot be seen. In this context the camera kit and the waxy clothing are important to carrying the persona of the wildlife photographer. More important is the time and energy invested in sitting, waiting for hours, days, even months for that shot of a water vole or a bittern. Juxtapose to this myself, swanning around with too small a lens, no tripod, a Japanese 'waterproof' jacket and an inclination to wander and create interesting narratives rather than doggedly pursue my subject and you clearly see two different photographers - even if, by chance, they may photograph the same image in the same way eventually.
It is easy to see this as farcical but I would argue it is not, indeed understanding the performance of the photographer is crucial to undermining our generally passive engagement with images. To understand the performance behind the image is to understand more deeply what the image represents. True, many photographers prefer to mask this in order to assert the genius of their vision but fundamentally the process of acquiring the image is as important as the image itself. This is not to say that there is ever a better way of producing these images - just that these different ways tell different stories.
This all opens up a Pandora's Box of thoughts and issues about photographing wildlife - its colonial roots, the notion of wildness and so on - so I'll be blogging a bit more about this in coming weeks.
