What makes a great photograph
Jörg Colberg posed the question, “What makes a great photo?” Click here to read responses from a wide variety of photographers and bloggers. Most of the responses acknowledge that trying to quantify what makes a photograph great is difficult if not impossible. Some mention the way you remember the image long after first seeing it.
For me, what makes a photo great is a combination of the feeling I have when I see it, and the way I can recall that feeling—even if I can’t recall the image—many years later. I don’t necessarily have to remember what the photograph looks like in order for it to have been a great one—the key is the effect it had on me.
There are books I read as a child, books the plotlines and characters of which I can no longer recall. I may be able to tell you the title of the book; maybe just the color of the cover. But I can close my eyes and think of that book, and I can feel all over again the way I felt when I was reading it, and the intense sadness that hit me when I reached the last page.
When my grandpa died, I was 15, and I worried that, with time, I would forget details about him—things like the way the hair on the back of his hand felt, the feeling of one of his hugs, the sound of his laugh, what he looked like shaving or combing his hair. I have forgotten some of the details. I have to strain to remember others. But the one thing that remains is this: I remember how I felt when I was with him, and I remember how I felt when we were apart. Those feelings are with me today, so much so that, just typing these words, I have tears in my eyes.
These two seemingly unrelated experiences—loving a book, loving a person—are to me completely connected to loving a photograph, and to what makes a photograph great. It’s the feeling it produces in me, a feeling that becomes a part of me and stays with me long after I’ve forgotten the details of what the photograph looks like.
P.S. I’m still working on choosing my favorite photo of all time. I can’t even choose my favorite photographer, so I’m not sure how I’ll narrow the field. For now, as promised, here’s one of my photos from today.
For me, what makes a photo great is a combination of the feeling I have when I see it, and the way I can recall that feeling—even if I can’t recall the image—many years later. I don’t necessarily have to remember what the photograph looks like in order for it to have been a great one—the key is the effect it had on me.
There are books I read as a child, books the plotlines and characters of which I can no longer recall. I may be able to tell you the title of the book; maybe just the color of the cover. But I can close my eyes and think of that book, and I can feel all over again the way I felt when I was reading it, and the intense sadness that hit me when I reached the last page.
When my grandpa died, I was 15, and I worried that, with time, I would forget details about him—things like the way the hair on the back of his hand felt, the feeling of one of his hugs, the sound of his laugh, what he looked like shaving or combing his hair. I have forgotten some of the details. I have to strain to remember others. But the one thing that remains is this: I remember how I felt when I was with him, and I remember how I felt when we were apart. Those feelings are with me today, so much so that, just typing these words, I have tears in my eyes.
These two seemingly unrelated experiences—loving a book, loving a person—are to me completely connected to loving a photograph, and to what makes a photograph great. It’s the feeling it produces in me, a feeling that becomes a part of me and stays with me long after I’ve forgotten the details of what the photograph looks like.
P.S. I’m still working on choosing my favorite photo of all time. I can’t even choose my favorite photographer, so I’m not sure how I’ll narrow the field. For now, as promised, here’s one of my photos from today.
Copyright © 2007 Liz Kuball
Labels: blogs, books, family, Jörg Colberg
posted by Liz at 9:17 AM
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