I have a unique (rather strange) criteria for a home to be classified as good, special, or just liveable. Along with naturally lit rooms, I am interested in what or where the windows point out to. While I do not expect to be living in places with exotic sea or mountain window views, overlooking a healthy native tree(s) is good enough for me. No matter how good the interiors or architecture may be, if it lacks the foliage views and natural lighting it is a big no.
A good window with foliage views reduces the need to have big artworks hung on the wall. While this is no criticism of wall hanging artworks in any form, they are mostly static. Whereas foliage views are ever changing: seasonally, progressively, yearly, and organically. Aren't, then, windows the ultimate medium of artwork? The way light falls through it depending on the season tells a story of its own, open for interpretation.
Recently, I stayed in an Airbnb where the windows summed up precisely what I had in mind: Windows as artwork.
Frosted mornings on the glass adds texture to the artworkA glass door view from the living room couch of my rented home. I need no TV.
Rest is underrated. Resting on weekends even more so. Resting during holidays is hardly a norm. In a world of consumption, bucket lists or checklists creation, and fulfilment, how do we return to baseline levels without overburdening ourselves? While there is never a right way of doing this, can a little bit of understanding might make it less hard?
At work, the conversation-starter often revolves around ‘what are your plans for the weekend’ on Fridays and ‘did you have a good weekend’ on Mondays. While it may always be well-intentioned, this incentivises the doing/done verbs. And in the wrong way. Isn’t it the same with holidays? One may feel guilty of wasting away a destination-holiday by doing nothing. (I’m referring to the holidays intended to taking a break, and not one of those truly formative/transformative travels we have all undertaken) Not performing the activities a place may be known for, not seeing (forget experiencing) the popular sights, or not trying out the eateries recommended on the guides. Why so? While you could include dopamine-inducing activities, too much of it throughout is what results in the so-called travel hangover. An online observation to this pattern is in posts like ‘mentally, I’m here’ with a photo of the place they might have recently visited. I have learnt this the hard way. Hiking, taking images, willingness to explore the local cuisines in-depth, or even just soaking in the nature experience can be overwhelming. I used to perceive it as part of taking a break. Euphoria-inducing experiences are what we may crave, but what we may need might be the same in moderation. A balancing act we may never master, yet an awareness which could help us in small ways.
Rest is well documented in the fitness and sport world. The creative community fondly terms it as ‘doing nothing’ as a way to pause exerting any kind of mental load. Nutrition has its own form of rest and reset with acts of intermittent fasting. Social-breaks and exhaustion is a reality and a necessity. What seldom gets talked about is the resting phase combining all the three: physical, mental and social. A day of reset. Go nowhere, meet no one, create nothing. Let the body repair the tissues, let the mind marinate thoughts and experiences in a semi-boredom state. My belief and experience points to this as the most effective form of rest: to recuperate, restore, and rejuvenate.
Needless to mention, this post was borne out of a rest day. Scribbled thoughts which formed into a structured write up on the day-after the rest.
Six months have passed. The excitement of owning, clicking, and revisiting the photos taken from the Voigtlander 27mm Ultron has still not faded. Taking this lens out every time has been a joy. Moving the focus ring ever so slightly to focus (or sometimes just short to create the soft look), and the outcome has been ASMR-stuff. As always, this comes with a caveat. Photos taken with other lenses have started to feel flat, or even boring. 'It could be the focal length', I kept convincing myself.
Until until I fought my own reasoning for days and bought a much-expensive 50mm Nokton from Voigtlander. The focus ring is bigger and smooth with the right amount of friction (giving me enough confidence to use it on professional assignment which was never the point anyway). Images? Priceless. It is in the look. Simple, everyday objects made to look romantic. The out-of-focus areas feel poetic (even if my overall composition and work would love to be called that). Fair to say, it wasn't the focal length I was in love with. It is the Voigtlanders, coupled with Fujifilm colour science. I am aware that I would stop noticing all these tiny optical details over time; the usage of these two lenses would soon become the norm in my workflow. But then, it is like a good coffee. You can have it every day and still appreciate each sip of it. You may grow accustomed to the aroma but not the joy the flavor notes bring.
I have long pondered this question. A good four years, to be precise. This question first struck in my head around the time when I was increasingly disillusioned by the term landscape photography and the content within it. I used to (and still do) photograph landscapes (everything that is natural) mainly for the joy of it. If I have to delve deeper, this was always a means to pay homage to the most beautiful thing in this planet, the natural living world. The appreciation for nature is universal, and the qualities it brings to people's lives, physically and emotionally, remain undeniable. (The fact that some people need this to be reminded, is a different story in itself.)
Well then, what constitutes a good landscape photo? Is it the landscape: a scale on how stunning it is, the uniqueness of the view, or the eye of the photographer? While a common answer would be: a combination of all the above, I have come to realise that people get struck by photo of a beautiful landscapes (read scenery) even if it is not captured very well. It is also true that you can create good landscape photographs from anywhere. But if one has to adopt it as a practice, it might be a good idea to be living close to geographically-gifted locations just so that the access to good vistas is always easier. The probability (or frequency) for good landscape photos would be much higher. My question about this has always been: Doesn't it make a few individuals, more privileged than the rest? Does it cease to become an art form?
I think this is where the eye of the photographer matters. The emotion one can bring to the images and the ability to convey the poetry, through representativeness or metaphor. A landscape experienced, or changed, or the associations within it, has a lot of potential to be expressed as a visual narrative.
Some might argue that this would no longer make it a landscape photo. I think that is the whole point of art: blurring the boundaries. Genres and disciplines have been created and differentiated for ease of classification for documentation and commercial purposes. Art has no obligation to fall strictly into any of it. If you are having a hard time explaining a work of art, it is already a good sign; an indication that there is a lot more to it: underlying meanings, subjectivity of one's own perception, and deeper questions raised.
Why is it that, if the intention of art is to question the very foundations, most of the works related to photography, look more or less the same? Why is there an over-emphasis placed on the medium of film? Large-format images of deserted places, of objects devoid of emotion, are forced into context and story telling. Why does it have to be a personal story with no significance? Why is one photographer's story more important than another? Where is the novelty? These are the questions I am always trying to answer, within my mind. And it happens often. Because the frequency with which I come across these kind of works are very high.
Is it stemming from the arrogance of the artists, or narcissim? Is it due to the limited exposure (or lack thereof) of the artist's world? Exposure in this context does not refer to travelling the globe, but rather to being curious about values, cultures, and viewpoints that are different and sometimes opposing to one's own. Why is it that one has to go through a sombre mood to actually experience art? Do artists recognise their biases, privileges, bubbles, and beliefs that have gone into their art? You cannot possibly create something outside of the spectrum of what you haven't consumed. Art is in the mixing process: a cross-pollination, an output of what one has already experienced or encountered.
Outside of photography-art medium, do artists really go out of their way to experience the work of fellow artists', similar to the way they expect the audience to experience their own art? That is, by slowing down, seeing through the layers, digging a little deeper into the context and relevance, interpreting the patterns and forces, and above all, forming an appreciation for them.
I am a big fan of Fujifilm. It started with my curiosity to find out why Fuji photographers showcased it openly as their gear of choice. Undoubtedly, the 'Fuji look' in their photos was hard to ignore: a certain type of colour rendering, shadow fall-off, aesthetic ready-to-use JPEGs, and, of course, taken from vintage-inspired-stylish camera bodies. Glad I made the switch to Fujifilm six years ago.
Rewinding back to 2016–17, I used to be fond of Carl Zeiss's classic line of lenses: the Planars, Distagons, and Sonnars. A unique character in the colour rendering, coupled with the famous Zeiss 3D pop in their images, convinced me to invest in them over native Nikon lenses; even at the cost of foregoing the convenience of autofocus capabilities.
Lens: the average, the good, and the special ones
Let's face it. In today's age, it is hard to find a bad lens. The majority of them are decent, which means that they meet the optical requirement to capture a scene as intended. They come at an affordable price tag, like kit zoom lenses or economical primes. I call these average lenses. Then, there are the good ones: better optics, a larger aperture, better build quality, etc., all coming at a higher price. This, if you compare the returns over the long term, might well justify the extra spending. The clinical, no-nonsense lens. I have somehow conveniently managed to bypass this category though.
What I have always been interested in were the special ones. They are manual focus lenses, which exhibits a bit of character in their images, and build quality oozing of precision & cutting-edge engineering. They often have a price tag, which is hard to justify. This is the opposite of sound financial advice. These may not give the desired returns even if you are a professional photographer, because, let's be honest, nobody in their right mind would be shooting professional assignments with manual focus lenses. Maybe the constraints are part of the appeal.
Voigtlander from Cosina certainly falls into the latter category. I have dreamt of owning Voigtlanders for a long time. The need to adapt it to Fujifilm mount was one of the main reasons why I stop aspiring for one. Using adapters to fit lenses from other mounts, however good those lenses may have been, come with disadvantages. I had to sell some of the Zeiss for this reason. The colour reproduction from native Fujifilm X-mount lenses are on par with many of my Zeiss favourites. Among the good Fuji lenses, there is one that particularly stands out. I still remember fondly how special the 16mm f1.4 Fujinon felt for the first time. This wide angle lens would not leave my camera for many months. Sadly, it has given way to an almost-unusable amount of fungus now.
Enter Voigtlander 27mm f2 with Fujifilm X-mount. Expensive, but it was hard to resist. The focal length seemed like the perfect measure for me. Not too wide, nor the boring image compression found in the crop-sensor 35mm. 27mm for crop sensor feels life-like when shot from waist-level. This makes it a great all-around lens for documentary, street, landscape (albeit with a unique perspective) and portraits (with a difference). Having shot using the first version of Fujinon 27mm f2.8 for the last few years, I have grown to love the perspective but always felt let down by its inability to deliver better optics. Every time I take this lens out, I am always trying to find adjectives for the nature of rendering.
Some sample images from the first few days of the lens.
There is always a bias involved, and it is mostly confirmation bias. Try to reduce it during synthesis, even if you would not be able to get rid of it entirely.
It is all about framing; you could frame it in a particular way to solve/tackle the core problem; or you could frame it differently to drive home your point.
No amount of research is going to be sufficient. It’s about knowing what is ‘good-enough’ research (which is never less than 5 users) or the optimum timeline to find out what we don’t know (or disapprove of what we already know).
We don’t know what we don’t know. Account for unknown variables in the game. Or, better yet, know where to draw the boundaries.
Output depends on input; the way we ask questions of a user will influence the response.
It is not always about what the user says. It is more about how the user thinks/perceives and the factors that cause what they say and act.
A validation to test the pattern we observed/unearthed is required to be sure we weren’t dreaming.
Co-relation is not causation. Avoid linking/interchanging them. Just like #1 and #2, this applies to our lives too.
Test the null hypothesis.
Be genuinely curious about the topic and its users. You would uncover and learn a lot more than what you had initially set out to do.
A framework, if you look closely, is a particular way of framing the context. This framing helps us define tangible variables, which could then be changed, improved, measured, and tested. It gives us a better perspective of the outcomes in relation to the input variables.
So, if I’m solving a problem, I may approach it differently than another individual. An individual A could achieve different outcomes compared to an individual B. How does one method become to be adopted as a standardised framework? Is it because of the impact of success? The rate of success? Or the scale of success? Or just Frequency of usage? Perhaps all of them.
Given an approach to work in different problem-solving conditions, there needs to be a high level of similarity with the context or conditions. It is, therefore, astonishing how many of these frameworks get passed around without evidence (of their proven efficacy) in this content/information era.
Should frameworks be broad or narrow?
When the framework is narrowly focused, with well defined variables and conditions, the scope of application becomes smaller but may prove to be highly effective in the given scenario and context. Make it too broad accommodating wide-ranging applications, it ceases to be a tool for incremental outcomes.
(examples to follow soon)
Where do we draw the line? How does a method become a framework? Or, are frameworks just agents to promote one's own ideas and agenda?
I have often contemplated the need to put down my thoughts, especially in a blog. Isn't it enough to just have it as a journal for personal reflection? Should it be open to the world? The vulnerability that comes with it is the need to be factually correct, or rather, the fear of being ridiculed if the personal biases get found out.
The last two posts have been immensely helpful to me, as a reminder of a thought nugget, a framework borne out of experience, or an avenue for thought experiments. The fact that it is published helps me easily refer to it from anywhere in the world and from any device. It also helps me to remind myself of the thought journey; to use some of the wisdom acquired in the past to be applied to problems in the future, lest I forget.
There is also another aspect to it that is hardly ever mentioned by anyone. The fact that following one'sown advice is always the hardest and most ignored.
If photographs are the visual representation of a point in time, I believe writing is a representation of thought at that particular time. Thought could be seen as a process, outcome, or maturity. The story of the thought would be complete only when looking backwards (and in the future).
This is part 2 (and a more detailed explanation) of the series on Test-Driven Design approach. Read Part 1 here.
Why Unit Test Case?
If development, despite containing thousands of lines of code, can function well, there's surely something right about that approach that we can look into. Also, how can we remove the subjectivity associated with UX and UI design? Metrics are effective once the product is shipped; a scientific approach, to how design is optimised, can greatly enhance the ability to solve some of the core product issues. After all, theories and concepts are formulated by testing hypotheses.
What if we define the assumptions of a user and their behaviour at the very start of the design process? Test the assumptions first, before taking the product to the actual users. Test, modify and refine the assumptions. This will help us gain a deeper understanding of the targeted user(s).
The design process or the art of crafting, now, becomes less about the designer's preference and more about the user. How it is supposed to be, in an ideal world. What this could lead to is an obsession to find out what the user really wants, taking into account the beautiful ways our mind behaves irrationally on various occasions.
Breaking down the user interaction journey into multiple test-cases helps us solve targeted areas of behaviour through optimisation. Think milestones. Each test case has to pass at the behavioural level, for a successful completion of the user flow. Or what if we set the milestones based on behavioural cues instead of technical steps, unlike how it is done currently? It makes complete sense for developers to label it that way because they are engineering it. But designers' goals are different. Let's take an example of a small scale e-commerce or D2C app: sign in > product listing > favourite, etc are reframed to user encountering the brand for the first time, getting to know more about it and then gaining more controls over the product feature, evaluation, shortlist, and so on. Reframing makes the actions that need to go into getting the desired outcome different too.
Would a scientific method reduce the creative 'gut' abilities of a designer?
No. The goal would be to make it pass the unit-test case, putting the designer(s) in a better position to use their creative abilities for a well defined goal. Constraints bring out the best ideas, showcasing the value of creative thinking to a greater extent for the product team.
