How the image shapes our understanding
BY STEPHEN HOGBIN
PHOTO BY JOHN CARLANO
The maker, Mark Sfirri, is in his workshop framed by the wood post and beam with measuring tools evocatively hanging above his head and a Oneway lathe, probably the best on the market, in the foreground. Its all about a quality activity. We are assured there is nothing shabby about this production. The blurred wood rotating on the lathe intimates how the candleholder—center right—is being made. This photograph is an image about the context of production and the making of a quality object. It explains little about how to make the holder; rather, it serves to evoke a notion of professionalism and excellence.
Probably most people reading this magazine have taken photographs of their woodwork. They may have made these images for a great variety of reasons. For example, I take at least one picture of every piece I make to catalog my work. These may then be used to show future clients through my website, present work in a magazine, or show associates what I have made recently.
It was reported that in a lifetime we take on average about 3000 photographs. With an average shutter speed, that represents a total of approximately 30 seconds. But those who photograph their own work or who use a professional photographer know it may take much longer—minutes or even hours—before the actual flash of light and click of shutter that record the moment. Photography is contrarian: it happens in a moment or fraction of a second, but to get that perfect shot may require hours of preparation. Using natural light may mean waiting days for the right conditions. And even if getting a picture comes quickly, developing a personal vision within the medium is a slow and often difficult process.
There is a current “right way” to think about the photograph which may be illustrated through the example of painting a portrait. It was and probably still is considered inappropriate or even vulgar to smile for the painter. In the photographic portrait, the smile is desirable; it's almost essential to show the teeth. Photographing the object has certain dictates as well, and that is what got me thinking about the image and what happens to the way we think about the work. Over the years I have tried numerous approaches with varying degrees of failure and success.
When taking the picture, what are you thinking about? Fame, communication of a process, ideas about humanity…the list goes on, and your intentions may well be several or overlap. But each photograph may be “read,” or interpreted, to present certain ways of thinking. I remember the discussions when I was a student back in the 1950s about the way painters photograph their work as compared to sculptors. The painters looked for a technical perfection with superb fidelity of color variation and tonal qualities. The sculptors purposefully shunned “polished” images but showed the roundness of form and a marked indifference to the backdrop. The sculptors never trusted the photographic image because it was flat, one view—an illusion.
Even so, over the years I have repeatedly observed that most objects have a good angle from which to view the work. Choosing the best side made all the difference to the presentation of the work, which was ultimately a trick of reality.
Mark Sfirri has generously agree to let me talk about images of his candleholder. So, it's not primarily about the candleholder, but rather about the image of the candleholder in a photograph that I am speaking. Incidentally, I greatly admire this cocky, flamboyant object, and even used it as a source of inspiration in my own work. The Sfirri candleholder I have now sits in a row of candleholders including the work of other makers.
The highlights in the life of a holder may include four quite distinct moments:
- Workshop images, in progress on the machine, in the hands or on the bench, surrounded by beautiful tools.
- Display images, as if it were on the fashion “runway,” shop, gallery, museum; as an object of desire.
- Idea images, presented as a subject or concept of the mind through the physicality of material form.
- Contextualizing images, of people and objects going about their lives.
I asked Mark if he would photograph the candleholder in a variety of situations, including the workshop and as a centerpiece on the table in a celebration. It is interesting for me how the image of the candleholder changes in each setting: the “medium is the message,” to quote the media guru Marshal McLuhan.
Each medium or context reorganizes the mind and brain in its own unique way. The picture in the workshop orients us towards the making process, and on the table towards its use and a kind of celebration. Most of the time the effects surrounding the piece are more significant than the content of the object. With each new context for the object some senses are stepped up and others stepped down. So when the candleholder is neither in the workshop or part of the table setting it has a lifeless quality, the sort of estranged look of the runway at the fashion parade. The subject is objectified and out of this world.
PHOTO BY MARK SFIRRI
Craft and the manually controlled technologies cannot be better expressed than in this picture with one hand holding the work and the other the gouge about to pare down the stub where the wood was attached to the lathe. It is a powerful image of strength and control with material and form. It summarizes the relationship of mind, hand, and skill. It's hardly necessary to show the image and could have been expressed with words like “remove from lathe, cut off stub.” But that would be dull and reduce the situation to technical drudgery. The classic composition of the image helps enormously. The eye moves in from the upper left-hand side and travels down the finger, thumb and around the circle back to the top. The eye almost rotates with the turning. The background is a bit noisy but keeps it in the context of the workshop and away from the “runway.” Apart from that, this image, like the first, was taken by a professional photographer with a keen eye.
Photographers have often tried to take the object outside and into the natural setting, to make the connection between organic form and its origins. It seldom works, and in my own work made me realize how urban objects are and ultimately about something other than trees, grass and water. There is, however, a good example in The Maker's Hand: American Studio Furniture, 1940-1990, page 87, of “Grecian Sofa” in front of a tree and the lines and setting are so gracious it works. So I would not want to make a rule out of it. Because of its function, the candleholder is irrevocably tied to the table top and so it just works best inside and not on a tree stump.
The typical photograph of an object in a magazine or presentation leans heavily towards the “runway” image. That's not the runway of life, rather the display associated with fashion. The model struts the stuff in optimum lighting, fast-moving music, withdrawn from daily reality. “Dis-play” is the reverse of “play”—the object is out of play; it dissociates from production and meaningful consumption. However, the objectification of the “runway” image does allow for exercising the imagination and where the object might be used—isolating the object from a specific context makes it possible to imagine it in many contexts.
PHOTO BY MARK SFIRRI
The table is set and the candleholder is central in the image but the eye is drawn to the food. (Admittedly it was just before lunch when I wrote this part!) Mark placed the bread in the foreground. The shapes tumbled together almost like the candleholder. However, the candleholder is more intentionally designed to play with the idea of balance and asymmetrical form and not sliced bread. This form on the table is about balance and the relationship of various shapes, so it becomes a metaphor for human exchange. We come together to eat, have conversation as friends, business associates or family. The assembled company requires balance in the tension of exchange.
Of course, the image of the bread may indeed be how the conversation goes, always tumbling along, but the shapes of the objects on the table are more likely to direct the way we exchange. Think about the difference of a formal or informal setting. Objects have their own field of power or aura, sometimes referred to as the nimbus. In this image the guests are about to be seated momentarily in a compressed and somewhat cluttered space. This is no studio food shoot. It is an image full of potential, gracefully simple and without ostentation, but clearly respectful for the sense of the occasion—in this case, it was to be a family birthday party.
PHOTO BY STEPHEN HOGBIN
The light expands from the flame, casting a shadow on which the holder stands. The conical head balances on the largest disk. The candleholder is in shadow and in profile. Like a moth, the eye is drawn back to the flame and halo of light. The piece is complete. The candleholder plays into the sacred secular only as deeply as the mind will allow it to go. It is after all only shaped wood, fire, and light, and the mind will go only as far as we allow it to remember or imagine.
Objects have a marvelous way of reminding me of past experience. Some objects seem to belong to another time, the memories are so strong. We may also just remember it as the thing made in the workshop last year but the future grandchild will remember it quite differently. The object contains memories of times spent together. By living life to the fullest, experiencing deeply the moment, objects become the catalyst for memory and a mindful present.
Interestingly, setting up a photo shoot to see how the candle, when alight, might play on the form of the candleholder and surrounding surface I found the light most powerful, even symbolic. We see because of light; it is most precious, although it is often casually squandered. A single candle has the power to focus the eye and mind back onto this primitive form. Light and fire have a myriad of primal associations. The source of illumination on the table has the potential of being soft and romantic and part of the gentle sensory pleasures, but do not knock it over or leave it burning unattended. Light, especially a naked flame, needs almost our full attention, certainly for the symbolic potential and its physical dangers.
The images selected always include the candleholder, but they also carry other messages that I have tried to unpack and illuminate in their captions.
Stephen Hogbin makes furniture and other objects; he is a teacher and author, most recently of Evaluating: the critique in the studio workshop, published by The Ginger Press. He lives in Wiarton, Ontario.