The picture not taken On life and photography

Benjamin Swett

Book - 2024

"An ecologically minded collection of essays in the vein of Rebecca Solnit and Susan Sontag-covering everything from the equipment of photography to the difficulties of perception itself. In an age when most of us carry a device seemingly capable of freeze-framing the world, Benjamin Swett writes with refreshing clarity on the way of the true photographer. Combines cultural criticism with personal revelation to examine how the lived experience of photography can endow the mundane with meaning while bringing attention to the beauty of both the natural world and the world we build. Having photographed trees of Manhattan, Shaker dwellings, and the landscapes of upstate New York, award-winning photographer and writer Swett brings an ecolog...ical sensitivity to these expansive and profound meditations on how to document the world around us. Accompanied by nearly three dozen black-and-white photographs and illustrations, the essays take us from Coney Island in the early 70s to Paris and Prado at the turn of the last century. By turns literary criticism, art history, and memoir, they draw from writers such as Eric Sanderson, Max Frisch, and John Berger to uncover truths about a life spent in pursuit of art. In essays such as "The Picture Not Taken," "The Beauty of the Camera," and "My Father's Green Album" Swett gives us a picture of photography over generations and how we can or should relate to the mechanical devices so often fetishized by those interested in the subject. In "What I wanted to Tell You About the Wind" we understand photography's importance in understanding our place in larger environmental and social systems; and in "VR" and "Some Observations in the Galapagos" Swett challenges us to think through problems of perception and knowing central to the experience of photography, looking to the past and into our future for answers. Poignant and deftly crafted, The Picture Not Taken brings to mind the fearless ambition of Annie Dillard and the grand scope of Rebecca Solnit's Field Guide to Getting Lost. Swett's writing will appeal to readers who have enjoyed Geoff Dyer's work, and Susan Sontag's writing on photography"--

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1 copy ordered
Subjects
Published
New York : New York Review Books [2024]
Language
English
Main Author
Benjamin Swett (author)
Physical Description
pages cm
ISBN
9781681378633
  • VR
  • Coney Island, 1971
  • My father's green album
  • The beauty of the camera
  • What I wanted to tell you about the wind
  • Unfinished
  • Some observations in the Galapagos (and elsewhere)
  • The picture not taken.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

A photographer known for his evocative portraits of urban trees writes both mystically and matter-of-factly about the art form. "What I see through the lens of my camera, the picture I take, is just what is there and not what is not," Swett writes at the end of this brief memoir and meditation. It's a statement as elusive--and as meaningful--as Miles Davis' observation that the silences in music are as important as the notes, but it works, perhaps more so than an early moment in which Swett and friends ponder "the arbitrariness of any of our constructed realities." Peppering his pages with photographs from both family albums and his portfolio, Swett celebrates his aspirational father, who first put a camera in his son's hands even while taking not entirely masterful art images as he worked for years as a photojournalist ("My father wasn't fast enough on the focus and the birds, zooming around on their own courses, came out as hazy ideas rather than fast facts"). Though his father never enjoyed personal renown, he serves as a fine example of a work ethic and a practice that made something memorable of "the heavy, high-priced hunk of glass and metal that we call a camera." That hunk of glass and metal, of course, has been an object of adoration--and plenty of shoptalk--for generations of photographers. On that note, and worth plenty of conversations among photographers now, Swett questions the use of the cell phone as a camera, for even as he does so himself, he allows that "it's a bit creepy to think that every shot I take on my iPhone has been pre-visualized by an algorithm." A provocative book to shelve alongside Sontag, Barthes, Cartier-Bresson, and other philosophers of the image. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.