Light is funny. It’s the fuel our photographic dreams run on. It is, after all, what photography is about. By definition, it is drawing with light.
Photographers talk about the quality of light, soft or hard, and quantity, how much we need to make a photo. We struggle to control it, a force wild and unpredictable one moment and docile and forgiving the next. We use umbrellas and boxes to shape and mold it. Light sets the tone, the mood, the atmosphere, the very structure of our photographs.
I am continually aware of the light around me, where shadows fall, where highlights glow and faces glisten. Light and shadow are the yin and yang of my profession. And they are elusive, their successful capture confirmed only after the image has been revealed, never at the time the shutter falls.
If Yogi Berra were to have mused about serendipity and photography, he might have concluded something like this: Perfect light is often an imperfect lighting situation that produces the perfect light for the situation.
The old Kodak info slip with a roll of film would instruct photographers to put the sun behind them, completely lighting the subject, or use a flash in the dark, as if to say light good, dark bad. But it’s never that simple.
On an early evening during rush-hour traffic, I am watching the light from the headlights of the many cars moving down Fountain Street play off the people walking along the sidewalk and crossing the street. It’s a kaleidoscope of warm tones in a hard urban setting. And the man in the photo, obscured by the pole but reflected by the wall, takes on a mysterious, Hitchcockian cast. He ís both there and not there. Light is funny.
copyright 2015 Kris Craig / The Providence Journal / 2 Much Time design