Dealing with visual overload

During a recent Masterclass with some of my students, we were faced with an situation quite typical of a working pro: several hours of nothing much going on, half an hour of madness, and a bit of a post-mortem afterwards. The main feeling I got from the group was best described as a sort of mild panic: after being lulled into a state of half-hearted inactivity by uninspiring light and a fairly pedestrian subject, we were suddenly handed great light, rapidly changing conditions and the same pedestrian subjects come alive. This is by no means a unique situation, and sometimes the situation is a one-off and professionally critical. So what’s the best way to maximise photographic returns?

I actually think the biggest mistake here is to feel like you have to force yourself to make or find an image in every situation. Sometimes, there just isn’t a worthwhile photograph to be had – a single subject element or a bit more light can make all the difference. At times like this, I’ll do one of two things: experiment knowing that I’m going to delete most of the results afterwards, or play the ‘what if’ game. I will do my best to stick to my guns commitment-wise, though: if I say I’m going to give myself 2-3 hours, I’ll stay there for the whole time. It’s a bit different on assignment, of course: you stay on station til you get an image the client is happy with, unless there is really no chance of getting anything (e.g. the sun setting, and the expected event being during the daytime) – at which point you must re-plan and revaluate. During the waiting time on an assignment, I’ll be both experimenting and doing what I think of as ‘banking insurance’ – you get an image that’s slightly closer than the last one to the ideal best case scenario, just in case.

The purpose of experimentation is twofold: firstly, you build familiarity with a given photographic situation or set of parameters and the range of outcomes you can expect. It can be something as simple as figuring out what shutter speeds give the aesthetics you desire for a given wave height and speed, or how much ND to use to erase people – or render them as flowing. (It could also be messing around with your lighting setup waiting for a product to be delivered or the model to be ready). Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, it builds familiarity with your equipment: the last thing you want to be doing is fumbling with buttons or searching through menus for a setting. That can both take your eye of the action and produce a sense of panic that’s even more crippling than just trying to make the best of a suboptimal setup – speaking of which, sufficient experimentation should also prevent suboptimal setups from occurring at all.

Both outcomes are really subconscious training: the bigger the database of experience in your mind, the more likely it is you will be able to respond instinctively and semi-automatically in a rapidly changing situation to produce the results you want. If your subconscious brain is dealing with the mechanical execution, your conscious brain has more bandwidth left to consider the creative process or respond to change – and this is of course desirable. I suppose it’s one of the reasons it’s worth fiddling with your equipment at home (i.e. in a known, controlled environment to eliminate one variable) – but at the same time, it’s still necessary to actually go out and shoot under real situations to build in that familiarity. Simulations are certainly a proven part of pilot and sportsperson training* – I don’t see why it should be any different for photographers.

*Interestingly, in motorsport, the GT Academy has demonstrated that there really is a correlation between simulator skill and real world skill.

The ‘what if’ game (to be the subject of a future article) is a bit more interesting: it’s also simulation of a kind, though it requires the photographer to use their imagination and previsualizationn skills to consider what might make an ideal scenario. How many possible frames are there? What would the final output look like, stylistically and presentation-wise? What local adjustments might have to be done in post? If you find yourself in a situation where there is no possibility to make anything beyond a ‘craftsman**’ image, then ask yourself what additional elements could elevate that beyond – more directional light? An extra person? The person that’s there to look up? A bird or cloud to fill a bit of empty sky? The thing is, I’ve learned from experience that more often than not, if conditions are changing rapidly enough, chances are you’ll get your wish. One has to be both patient and prepared.

**i.e. competent but uninteresting

This brings us to the concept of prioritisation: a result of the what-if game is you should have some rough idea of both what different images are available, and under what circumstances they will come together. In a given situation, figure out which of those are most likely to yield the best result both aesthetically/creatively and technically – where will you get the strongest translation of idea? Focus on those and don’t get distracted by other passing opportunities. You may land up throwing away preparedness and missing capturing a very strong idea because of something fleeting through the corner of your eye. Realistically, it is highly unlikely you will capture that transient moment to your satisfaction – both because reaction and execution time are probably going to be longer than the event, and because your creative process is going to be almost 100% instinctual autopilot rather than careful consideration.

Obviously, when something is happening, or about to happen, start shooting. Bank the insurance. Whilst the pace is leisurely, check occasionally that the results are as expected – edges/composition/balance, exposure, focus etc. because when things really get going, you’re not going to have the chance to do this – or only at the expense of possibly missing the decisive moment. Try to get it right with the first image, but work on variants and alternatives if you have the time. Curate afterwards – that process does require consideration and objectivity – not something you’re likely to have in the heat of the moment. Only stop when you’re confident you have the image you want.

Leave the final selection to some time after the event. It’s too easy to either get emotionally invested in the moment and keep everything (not curate tightly enough) or feel despondent and as though you didn’t really capture the idea or mood you wanted. It’s probably in there somewhere, but you’re just not going to be able to see it at the present moment. (I would personally go back much later to see which of the images evoked a similar set of feelings as experienced about and at the event.)

The images illustrating this post were shot in about the space of an hour, and not presented in any particular order. There were far more, of course, but these are what survived my curation several weeks later; I do think they both capture the extraordinary sky that evening, some of the more standout individual elements and their interaction with the environment, and the general mood. Lastly, I’m sure I’ve said this countless times in the past, but there really is no substitute for practice – the more you shoot in general, the more of the shooting process can become muscle memory; the calmer you’ll be at prioritising and responding (and not forgetting to say lock your mirror up, or switch auto ISO) and the more objective you’ll be afterwards in the curation. And that in turn leads to the desired result: a unique image shot under unrepeatable conditions. MT

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