The photo is a thing in itself. And that's what still photography is all about.
Garry WinograndRead
Sometimes photographers mistake emotion for what makes a great street photograph.
Interpretation
Great street photography goes beyond capturing mere emotions; it involves deeper elements of composition and context.
Garry Winogrand's quote suggests that many photographers may prioritize the emotional aspect of a moment when taking a street photograph, overlooking the fundamental principles of good composition, context, and storytelling that contribute to a truly great image. Street photography is an art form that requires a balance between emotion and technical skill to create impactful visuals.
In practice
In a photography workshop, you might say, 'Remember Garry Winogrand's perspective on photography when capturing street life.'
The photo is a thing in itself. And that's what still photography is all about.
The photograph should be more interesting or more beautiful than what was photographed
Photography is about finding out what can happen in the frame. When you put four edges around some facts, you change those facts.
When Iβm photographing I see life.
Photography is not about the thing photographed. It is about how that thing looks photographed.
I like to think of photographing as a two-way act of respect. Respect for the medium, by letting it do what it does best, describe. And respect for the subject, by describing it as it is. A photograph must be responsible to both.
The best thing about writing has been the writer's life, the sense of being expressed, the ownership of the day, the entirely specious sense of freedom we have, however slave we are to some boss or other. I wouldn't trade it for any other life.
The Arts are man's most useless ... and essential ... activity.
The office of poetry is not to make us think accurately, but feel truly.
To create something from nothing is one of the greatest feelings, and I would - I don't know, I wish it upon everybody. It's heaven.
...And, all at once, the moon arouse through the thin ghastly mist, And was crimson in color... And they lynx which dwelleth forever in the tomb, came out therefrom. And lay down at the feet of the demon. And looked at him steadily in the face.
You see, I am a poet, and not quite right in the head, darling. Itβs only that.
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