Our Love Affair with Bad Guys

Lower Taughannock Falls, Taughannock Falls SP, NY

We all, I trust, are familiar with the notion of “the dark side”.  Made famous by George Lucas in the Star Wars movies, the term became synonymous with all things evil.  The “dark side”, of course,  is the domain of the bad guys, the ones who lie, cheat, steal, and otherwise do their very best to make our lives miserable.  Sort of like Republicans.  I never quite understood, by the way, why there wasn’t a corresponding “light side”.  Seems like there should have been.

Anyway, Paul Lester and I have been having a little fun with the term lately, mostly with respect to cameras and stuff.  I’ve called Nikon the “dark side” and he’s called digital the “dark side” (as opposed to film).  Again, all in fun.  He also had a post, though, in which he talked about “shadows” and the dark side of our own personalities.  In a comment, I pointed out that we often openly root for the bad guy in movies.  I mentioned that when I first saw the final installment of Star Wars the audience appaluded and cheered when Darth Vader made his initial appearance.  They loved the guy.  Nobody stood up and cheered for the hero when he first appeared.

Since then, I’ve been thinking about it (a lot).  Why is it that we often root for the “bad guys”?  Why do we make folk heros out of outlaws?  True, we do it for the Abe Lincolns, Mother Theresa’s and Nelson Mandelas as well, but we seem to really get into elevating our villains, whether they be real or imaginary.

American movies are full of lovable bad guys.  The real star of the most recent Batman movie – The Dark Knight – is The Joker (played so well by Heath Ledger).  In the classic Silence of the Lambs, we worry about Jody Foster’s FBI character, but we also want Hannibal Lector to escape, presumably to continue his cannibalistic ways.  And he does.  We also come to admire Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Terminator, even though he isn’t even human.  Yes, he does turn into a “good guy” in the latter installments of the series, but he wreaks tremendous amounts of havoc in the original story.  But we forgive him his murderous excesses.  The list goes on and on – Michael Myers (Halloween), Freddy Krueger (Nightmare on Elm Street), and Agent Smith (the Matrix series).  We’re horrified by what these characters do, but it is them that we pay to go and see.

It’s not just fictional bad guys, either.  How about Jesse James.  Butch Cassidy.  Billy the Kid.  All have been raised from the depths of criminal behavior to the lofty pedestal of folk hero.  Why?  Because they represent what most of us are jealous of – the courage to step outside normal, accepted behavior.  There is nothing exciting or romantic about obeying all the rules.  We pay homage to our saints, but we secretly admire (and sometimes not so secretly) our most famous sinners.

Need a more recent, ”real-life” example?  In 2006, a guy named Ralph “Bucky” Phillips escaped from prison and went on a shooting spree in western New York that eventually attracted national attention.  By the time it was all over, a number of people were dead or wounded.  Among the dead was a New York State Trooper who, along with 2 other officers, was ambushed by Bucky.  These men never saw their attacker.

Bucky is currently serving a life sentence.  He actually pled guilty (or in his own words, “guilty as hell”).  So what’s my point?  Simply this: While Bucky was on the run, he became one of these “folk heros”.  The longer he evaded police, the more popular he became.  As police threw more and more men into the manhunt, the more people there were who openly hoped that he would avoid capture or death.  At the height of this nonsense you could actually buy “Where’s Bucky?”  T-shirts.  The topper though, in my opinion, was the restaurant that proudly began serving “Bucky Burgers”.  Not surprisingly, they sold quite a few.  Right up until “poor” Bucky got caught.

Stay on the Path, Please

At the base of Taughannock Falls

I think this is one of the places that I could spend a lifetime exploring.   Or maybe just sitting and watching the falls.  Like the guy sitting on the fallen tree in the lower right (with his dog).  If nothing else, he provides scale for the size of this waterfall.  I thanked him for it, too, and then mentioned that he was sitting in an “off-limits” area.  I don’t think he cared.   Certainly the dog didn’t care – he thought it was a great place to swim.

Photographically, that’s the problem with some of these places.  There are signs all over the place telling you where you can’t go.  And it always seems that those are the exact spots you’d like to be to set up your tripod.  You think that if you could just get up on that ledge up there you’d have the perfect perspective, the perfect angle.  So what if it’s a bit dangerous?  It’s a “bit dangerous” to stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon, but nobody stops you from doing that.  So why do I have to “stay on the path” here? 

I was once wandering around Letchworth SP, close to a short wall (about a foot and a half tall) above the gorge.  The wall itself was roughly 25 feet from the edge.  To get a better angle, I set the tripod on the wall and straddled the wall with my feet.  Before you could say “watch the birdie”, a park ranger appeared out of nowhere and asked me to step back.  Again, if it’s OK for me to stand on the very edge of one of the world’s deepest canyons, why in the hell can’t I stand 25 feet from the edge of the Genesee River gorge?

Well, that’s New York state for you.  Lots of taxes, lots of snow, and lots of silly rules.

Impressive, but…..

Lucifer Falls, Robert Treman SP, NY

Oscar Wilde, the famous 19th century Irish playwright, once said about Niagara Falls -

“It would be more impressive if it flowed the other way”.

Almost sounds like Mr. Wilde wasn’t terribly impressed with Niagara.  If not, he probably wouldn’t have given Lucifer Falls here a second glance.  Typical European.  Always putting down what we have over here in the colonies. 

Table for One

Waterfall, Stony Brook SP, NY

One of the great things about being out of the rat race – even if it’s not completely voluntary – is that you can choose to eat lunch whenever and wherever you want.  In this case, sitting on a large flat rock in the middle of a stream while listening to the soothing sounds of a waterfall seemed to be a fine idea.  I just left the camera on the tripod, pulled a sandwich from my backpack, and enjoyed the ambiance.  I didn’t even have to leave a tip.

Climb the Stairs

Bridge, Stony Brook SP, NY

Much of the infrastructure in New York’s state parks – like this staircase and bridge – was constructed during the depression of the 1930’s.  It was, of course, an effort to create jobs for the unemployed.  Whether it worked or not is still something that is being debated today.

It’s interesting (to me, anyway) that as you walk through places like this today you can see evidence of “fresh” repair work on trails and stairs and bridges.  More than you would have seen in previous years.  I suppose that some of the stimulus money given to the states is finding its way to these kinds of projects.  If that’s the case, I’m glad.  It won’t be a game-changer with respect to getting the economy healthy again, but it can’t hurt either.

It’s also not a bad idea to make some of these trails safer.  In places like Stony Brook, some trails are wet most of the time (those near the water).  They also seem to have this perpetual layer of “slime” on them.  Put a coating of freshly fallen leaves over that, and you have multiple opportunities for slips and falls.  If there also happens to be loose stones or cement underneath, especially on the stairs, it’s even more problematic.  So it’s nice to see some of this repair work being done.  I certainly appreciate it.

Like a Hot Knife Through Soft Butter

Slicing through shale, Stony Brook SP, NY

I have to say that fall is my favorite time of year.  Especially in this part of the world (south of Rochester, that is).  Not only is there abundant color, but most of the state parks are essentially empty.  They’ve even stopped collecting money to get in, at least on weekdays.  So except for a few other old geezers, the place is yours.  You can ever wander well off the trail – as I did here – and position your tripod anywhere you like.  Even in the middle of the stream.  There aren’t any park rangers to scold you for doing something “dangerous”.

Yesterday was warm, cloudy, and still.  A perfect time to visit Stony Brook.  Like Watkins Glen, Stony Brook is all shale.  Layers and layers of soft sediment that the water eats through very quickly (with respect to geologic time).  At this time of year, with all the fallen leaves, the place has a smell that can only be described as “earthy”. 

I can think of no better way to spend a lazy fall afternoon.

Peeling Back the Onion

Watkins Glen SP, NY

Watkins Glen State Park.  Perhaps the most stunning example of the effects of cyclic glacial activity in the general Finger Lakes region.  Following the last glacial retreat some 10,000 years ago, Glen Creek has been cutting through the relatively soft shale in this area on its way to the southern end of Seneca Lake.  Over the course of roughly 2 miles, the creek drops some 400 feet across 19 waterfalls (the highest about 60 feet), leaving a gorge with 200 foot cliffs.  The gorge is so narrow in some areas that even during the summer months precious little sunlight actually makes it to the bottom of the chasm.  It’s a cool, damp, dark world.

And such a wonderful metaphor for so many things.  Like the search for “objective reality”.

In two recent posts (Hearing the Light and A Light Influence),  Cedric – the author of Plop – started a philosophical discussion about the nature of things, their inherent essence or “isness”.  In it, he suggested that when captured in a photograph, this “isness” could be shared by both photographer and viewer.  That is, both would “see” or feel essentially the same thing, even if they could not verbally express exactly what that “thing” was .  But at some level, both would experience the same truth or objective reality.

In two comments, I respectfully questioned this assertion (while admitting that I certainly didn’t know the answer).  Philosophical questions are like that, I think.  Nobody ever really knows the answer, at least not with absolute certainty.  Kind of like religious questions.  Lots of people think they know what religious ”truth” is, but none of them can provide any hard evidence.  Without actual evidence, “objective reality” is forever stuck in the realm of philosophic conjecture.  What I “see” or believe depends largely on all of the things I’ve seen or experienced up to that point.

In his second post, Cedric used photographic examples to demonstrate that viewers can, in fact, respond the same way to the same stimulus.  Images of the horrors of war, human tragedy, and, to an extent, human triumph do trigger the same visceral reactions in most of us.  The image of the doomed passenger jet an instant before striking the second tower on 9/11 is clear evidence that, as humans, we react the same way in many situations.  We all feel the same horror, knowing that this was the last second of life for all those on board.  We see this and know that it could have been us.  The image touches our most basic instinct – survival.   It also serves to remind us that we’re not always in control, that the “reality” of our very existence is something of a crap shoot.

So where does that leave “objective reality”?  In a response to Cedric’s second post, Andreas Manessinger (http://manessinger.com/) states that he believes in objective reality (Andreas is actually the one who triggered Cedric’s second post).  I agree with that.  As an old TV show used to proclaim, “The Truth is Out There”.  But knowing that it exists is not much help in determining its nature.  It’s like the old problem solving metaphor of “peeling back the onion”.  Problems are generally multi-layered.  What you see on the outside isn’t the problem itself.  Rather, it’s a consequence of the problem, a symptom.  To solve the problem, you have to peel away the layers until you’re left with the core which, hopefully, is the “essence” of the problem. 

At least that’s the idea.  You could use the waterfall in the same way.  The water will eventually cut through the softer layers until it reaches some kind of bedrock (maybe limestone or sandstone or even granite).  In that metaphor, the harder bedrock is, of course, objective reality.  Once reached, the “true” nature of the gorge will be revealed.

Or will it?  How do we know that the water won’t cut even deeper?  Maybe there’s something that’s harder underneath, something that’s even closer to the true nature of this land.  Heck, the rock at the bottom of the Grand Canyon is about 2 billion years old in places, and still the Colorado River cuts through it.

Well, maybe that’s a bad analogy.  As I said, I don’t know the answer.  But while I believe that what Cedric calls objective reality, or “truth”, actually exists, I also believe that for us, it’s both unknown and unknowable.  We may catch brief glimpses of it from time to time, but we can never capture it.

So whether we’re looking at an Ansell Adams photograph or discussing the nature of God, we will never completely agree.  Most of the time, we will disagree.  That’s who we are.  And that is both our greatest strength and our most profound weakness.

Free Fall

Cavern Falls in Watkins Glen SP, NY

The other day, while trying to read a book and watch some news at the same time (my version of multitasking), I heard some guy compare geologic epochs to human history.  The world’s natural history, of course, is divided into epochs or time periods  lasting millions of years each and characterized by differences in climate, life forms, and geologic activity.  Two of the more recent designations, for example, are the Paleozoic and Mesozoic periods. 

But the guy wasn’t talking about old rocks.  He was talking about us.  And one of the things that he said really caught my attention.  To paraphrase, he said that at some point in the future historians would look back at us and say, “oh yes, that was the tribal period” (the emphasis is mine).  That assumes, of course, that we survive as a species long enough for there to be future historians.

Honestly, I think the guy nailed it (I wish I remembered his name, but I don’t).  What passes for “discourse” these days is, in reality, nothing more than “tribal” conflict and posturing.  The notions of consensus and majority rule are fast becoming endangered species, soon to go the way of the dodo bird.  Everybody seems to have their own little niche, their own piece of turf that they seem willing to defend to the death.  Searching for common ground and compromise is dead – long live anarchy and the cult of “me”.

Even within the normally quiet, unprovocative, staid, laid back community of photographers – especially those with their own little bully pulpits – temperatures are rising.  The nasty side of politics (believe it or not, there is a “good” side) is making serious inroads.  If you don’t agree with what I say, I’ll simply resort to name calling and other means of character assassination.  I’ll verbally beat you to a bloody pulp for no other reason than “my dick is bigger than yours”.  Rational debate is for sissies and the weak minded.  If I’m the last dick standing (or shouting), then I win.

Now, most photographic blogs, at least the ones that I frequent, are not like this.  Most photographers that I know are not like this.  I’ve always thought that as a group, photographers were by and large intelligent, reflective, thoughtful, and verbally nonviolent.  As a group, we tend to be observers.  We see things and then we mull them over.  We explore different angles and different perspectives.  We  know that the world is not pure black or pure white.  Rather, it’s infinite shades of gray.  It’s nuanced.  It’s complex.  There is never just one “correct” point of view.

Of course, we all fall off the wagon from time to time.  None of us are immune to knee jerk reactions or allowing our mouths  to get way out in front of our brains.  Especially in today’s highly charged atmosphere.  We all say things we wish we could take back.  It’s part of being human.  But more than anyone else on the planet, I think, photographers are students.  The world is a classroom.  We are the ones who should be asking the questions, not pontificating.  If we already know all the answers, then what’s the point in using a camera at all?  There’s nothing left to learn.

In the Gloom

Overlook, Taughannock Falls, Taughannock Falls SP, NY

It’s beginning to look like this might be one of those summers here in the northeastern U. S. that is remembered not for hot days and sunburns but for gloom and sogginess.  Things could turn around, of course.  It’s only early July.  If the weather gods decide to shift the jet stream north into Canada, then the current pattern will change very quickly.  This coming week, for instance, should see the sun’s return and temperatures into the low 80’s.  But where are the 90’s? 

I’m not complaining, mind you.  My wife is, but I’m not.  I prefer cool weather (although the daily rain is beginning to get a little stale).  This stuff definitely makes photography easier, at least with respect to dynamic range.  If you don’t mind getting a little wet, anytime of day is a good time.  There is no harsh light and no sun induced shadows to contend with.  And if you happen to find yourself at a place like Taughannock Falls, there are very few people to get in the way!  On a bright sunny summer day, this spot would be crawling with people, all trying to take a picture of the falls even though the afternoon sun would literally be in their faces. 

I guess that makes photography sort of like fishing.  If you want the best chance of “catching” something, don’t go when the weather is absolutely great for a picnic.  Go when everybody else is at home in front of the TV because the weather sucks.

Not to mention the fact that anyone currently sitting at home in front of the TV has got to be getting just a little tired of hearing about Michael Jackson.  So you get to avoid that, too.  Heck, Popes and Presidents don’t get this kind of coverage when they die.  I’m not denigrating the guy – I liked him too.  The “Thriller” album was an absolute gem.  But saying things like “he changed the world” (Al Sharpton) is silly.  And was he the “best ever” entertainer?  I don’t think so.  He might not even make the top 10.  The Beatles have to be at the top of the heap, followed by people like Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Sammy Davis, Jr., Bob Dylan, and a few others.

Call me a cynic, but I think all of this soap opera is designed to accomplish one thing and one thing only - to generate revenue for years to come.  First you create the myth, then you sell it.  It’s American capitalism at its best. 

All of which, of course, has nothing to do with photography.  Sorry for the tangential editorial.  But with all the real problems we face (two wars, health care, unemployment, global warming, etc.), it bugs the hell out of me that even “news” channels like MSNBC spend most of their time talking about who’s going to get custody of the kids, who is in the will and who isn’t, and what drugs he might have been taking when he died.  I mean, who cares?

Waterfall in Blue

In a recent post over at the Landscapist, Mark Hobson spent some time discussing the meaning of the “mind’s eye”, at least as it pertains to photography.  While we’ve all heard the term before, I have to admit that Mark’s post really got me to thinking about it.  He asked some pointed questions – none of which have easy answers.  At one point, he talks about using his own “mind’s eye” (while looking at the images of others, but not his own) and says:

So, that said, I definitely have a “mind’s eye”, in fact, it’s a very active one. It’s just that it goes to sleep when I’m picturing.

To me, that’s a very interesting personal observation about how one goes about making images.  I say that because I’m fairly certain that many photographers – myself included - would respond differently.  If we can define the “mind’s eye” as that personal set of biases we all carry around in our heads, especially when we’re looking for things to point the camera at, then it seems reasonable to assume that it would be wide awake and very focused while “picturing”.  What we “picture” is going to be consistent with how we view the world.  Or perhaps more correctly, how we would like the world to be viewed.

It’s possible, then, that the degree to which we allow the “mind’s eye” to participate in the creation of images determines the level of objectivity contained in them.  That is, if it’s completely turned off, then you can potentially achieve maximum objectivity (if that’s your goal).  At the other extreme – on and focused – you’ll get maximum subjectivity.  In between will be an infinite number of possible combinations.

A rough analogy might be the difference between fiction  and non-fiction writers.  Even though they may be making the same point, the styles will be vastly different.

Maybe that’s why we sometimes find it hard to understand or “get” someone else’s images.  If we’re at one extreme of this hypothetical spectrum and they’re at the other, we simply won’t “see” what it is they’re trying to convey.

To be sure, this is all “old ground”.  It’s been discussed many times.  But it seemed to me that Mark asked the question just a little differently.  And it got me thinking.