The Syntax of Photography

From The Keepers of Light by William Crawford, pp. 6–7:

[....] Are there "syntactical" rules of structure for the way we turn objects into photographs, rules that compel the infinite possibilities to fall along a finite line, just as there are rules for the way we turn concepts into statements? How you answer this question tends to determine how you approach the study of the history of photography.

My answer is that there is a photographic syntactical structure for the "language" of photography and that it comes, not from the photographer, but from the chemical, optical, and mechanical relationships that make photography possible. My argument is that the photographer can only do what the technology available at the time permits him to do. All sorts of artistic conventions and personal yearnings may influence a photographer—but only as far as the technology allows. At bottom, photography is a running battle between vision and technology. Genius is constantly frustrated—and tempered—by the machine.

Contemporary sensibility puts so much emphasis on photography as a "creative" activity that we can forget that what photographers really do—whether creative or not—is contend with a medium that forces them to look, to respond, and to record the world in a technologically structured and restricted way. I think that this point is essential to an understanding of photography. You simply cannot look at photographs as if they were ends without means. Each is the culmination of a process in which the photographer makes his decisions and discoveries within a technological framework. The camera not only allows him to take pictures; in a general sense it also tells him what pictures to take and how to go about it. It does this by restricting the field of view. The technology itself has blind spots and often stumbles through the dark. It is ornery and obstinate and sees only what it will. As a result, human experiences and natural wonders that the technology is not yet able to see go unrecorded—and even unnoticed. Each time the technology enlarges its sight, our eyes grow wider with surprise.

Having struggled over the years with stereo photography, including long baseline (up to 150 feet) stereo of moving objects, high dynamic range photography, and, most challenging of all, panoramic high dynamic range photography—each a photographic technique able to capture visions (or versions) of reality human eyes cannot see, while significantly challenging photographers attempting to impose them on the medium of current technology—the passage above rings especially true, suggesting available photographic technology will always fall short of some photographers’ yearnings, while limiting recordable “human experiences and natural wonders.” I admit, however, the “running battle” between available technology’s limits and inspiration’s realization, is an aspect of photography I find engaging (given sufficient energy and resources), and one which sweetens the successes, despite, or due to, their rarity.