Welcome to the Darkroom Diary Newsletter—a revival of practical photography insight inspired by Fred Picker’s legendary Zone VI Newsletters. Fred’s newsletters that spanned from the early 1970s to 1990s set the standard for straightforward, practical writing, combining technical clarity with heartfelt passion for photography. In this same spirit, my articles explore topics ranging from simplifying your photographic approach and mastering darkroom techniques, to enhancing aesthetic understanding and refining creative vision. Subscribing to the Darkroom Diary Premium Membership is a valuable extension of this free newsletter, offering deeper insights, detailed technical discussions, live monthly video meetings, direct interaction, and exclusive content designed to support and inspire your photographic journey.
A good photograph transcends mere technical execution; it resonates emotionally, tells a compelling story, and leaves a lasting impression on its audience. Ansel Adams, a master of landscape photography, emphasized the importance of perspective when he stated, “A good photograph is knowing where to stand.” This insight underscores the significance of composition and the photographer’s viewpoint in crafting an impactful image. I remember first seeing some of Ansel’s prints in person. I had scheduled a private showing at the St. Louis Art Museum, where I could view ten of his prints, ranging from 8×10 contact prints to large prints in the 30×40 range.
My initial impression when I walked into the room and glanced at the prints was pure amazement. As a skilled silver gelatin printmaker, I felt a profound sense of awe and appreciation for the technical mastery of his work. Most prints I viewed that day were made in the 1930s and 1940s, when I believe Ansel was likely in his creative prime. It was an experience I will never forget, not just because of the precision and beauty of his work but because his prints made me feel something. At the same time, I wondered how I would ever be able to achieve such technical mastery. Adams’ work is a testament to the idea that a photograph can transcend its medium when technical perfection merges with an ability to move the viewer emotionally.
Beyond composition, the emotional depth of a photograph plays a crucial role in its effectiveness. As Irving Penn aptly put it, “A good photograph is one that communicates a fact, touches the heart, and leaves the viewer a changed person for having seen it.” This perspective highlights the power of photography to convey truths and evoke emotions, transforming the viewer’s perception.
Technical excellence, while foundational, is not the sole determinant of a photograph’s merit. Anne Geddes remarked, “The best images are the ones that retain their strength and impact over the years, regardless of the number of times they are viewed.” This sentiment speaks to the timeless quality of a truly great photograph—its ability to captivate and move viewers consistently over time.
Sally Mann’s work with the wet plate collodion process provides a compelling example of how a photograph can be celebrated despite (or perhaps because of) its technical flaws. Anyone proficient in the wet plate process can see that her plates are full of errors—streaks, spots, chemical artifacts, and uneven coatings—that a highly skilled wet plate photographer would typically avoid. This raises an important question: Is Mann intentionally creating these imperfections as part of her artistic vision, or is she unable to produce technically perfect plates? The truth remains unclear, and it’s a topic that sparks significant debate within the wet plate photography community.
Mann’s imperfections could very well be intentional, as they align with her work’s haunting and evocative tone. The flaws lend an ethereal, almost otherworldly quality to her images that enhance their emotional resonance. However, for those who practice the wet plate process with a focus on technical mastery, this approach can be troubling. It risks setting a precedent where technical errors are mistaken for artistic intent, potentially influencing new wet plate photographers to view imperfections as acceptable or even desirable without fully understanding the process.
This duality—between emotional power and technical execution—underscores the complexity of evaluating what makes a photograph “good.” Mann’s work is undeniably moving and has earned critical acclaim for its ability to evoke deep feelings and provoke thought. Yet, her approach leaves room for a broader discussion about the balance between technical precision and artistic expression, especially in historical processes like wet plate collodion, where technical mastery is traditionally held in high regard.
The recognition of photography as a fine art owes much to pioneers like Alfred Stieglitz and Paul Strand. Stieglitz, a seminal figure in this movement, believed deeply in the artistic potential of photography. He once remarked, “The ability to make a truly artistic photograph is not acquired off-hand, but is the result of an artistic instinct coupled with years of labor.” This underscores his belief that creating meaningful art through photography requires both innate vision and dedicated effort. Stieglitz’s own work, particularly his “Equivalents” series of cloud photographs, exemplifies this philosophy. He described these images as “equivalents of my most profound life experiences,” suggesting that art expresses the artist’s deepest emotions and philosophies.
Paul Strand, a protégé of Stieglitz, also played a crucial role in elevating photography to an art form. His work emphasized the importance of authenticity and emotional connection, stating, “It is one thing to photograph people. It is another to make others care about them by revealing the core of their humanness.” Strand’s portraits and studies of everyday life aimed to capture the essence of his subjects, fostering a deeper understanding and empathy in the viewer.
In essence, a photograph is considered “good” when it harmoniously combines technical proficiency with emotional resonance and storytelling. It should engage the viewer’s eye through thoughtful composition, convey a narrative or emotion that touches the heart, and possess a timeless quality that invites repeated appreciation. Whether achieved through technical mastery or creative intention, great photographs transcend their medium to become powerful conduits for connection and understanding.
What Do You Think?
The question of what makes a good photograph has been debated for as long as the medium has existed. Is it technical perfection, emotional resonance, storytelling, or a combination of all three? Does the work of someone like Ansel Adams, with his unparalleled technical mastery, resonate more deeply than Sally Mann’s imperfect yet evocative wet plate collodion images? Or do the philosophies of Alfred Stieglitz and Paul Strand, who championed the emotional and human connection of photography, offer the clearest answer?
I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. What do you think makes a photograph “good”? Are there specific examples—whether from well-known photographers or your own work—that stand out to you as embodying the essence of a great photograph? What role do you believe technical proficiency plays compared to artistic expression?
Share your insights in the comments below. Be sure to include any specific photographs or photographers that you feel exemplify your perspective, and let’s continue the conversation about this timeless question.
Are You Investing in Your Creative Growth? Photographers often invest heavily in gear, equipment, and supplies—but how often do we invest in ourselves? For just $10 a month, the Darkroom Diary Premium Membership offers you the chance to join a vibrant community dedicated to growth, learning, and sharing creative journeys.
This is more than a membership—it’s a space to connect, evolve your vision, and draw inspiration from fellow analog photography enthusiasts. If you’re ready to take the next step in your creative journey, we’d be honored to have you join us in building this unique community.
For me, a good photograph is one I like, one that I cannot/do not forget.
Simple and to the point. Love it!
A very thoughtful presentation, Tim. Thank you.
I am not a fan of the notion that technical imperfections serve a purpose in fine art, and I think you express my view of this well in your discussion above. To me, fine art, or fine anything, such as other kinds of craftsmanship, musicianship, etc., is inseparable from mastery of craft. (Mastery is a process, as masters readily attest.) At the same time, a strong composition can sometimes overcome technical deficiencies that were either unintentional or unavoidable. Adams left us a number of aphorisms, among which (expressed in various words on different occasions) is “There is nothing so disturbing as a sharp photograph of a fuzzy concept.” By concept, he was not referring to some dry logic but to an idea conveyed by composing the image (all the way through the final print) so that it would “express what I *felt* when I made the photograph.”
Since we’re speaking of mostly large format photography in this case, it may be useful to note that Strand, for instance, would spend weeks in a new location before taking his camera out, familiarizing himself with the way of life, patterns, nature, architecture, light, social rhythms. While it’s true that one can miss an opportunity for a certain photograph, hoping simply to return another time, a world of difference separates the careful consideration and sustained intense concentration required for exceptional work from the extreme carelessness that has accompanied the “spray and pray” approach that digital technology so “freely” allows.
Strand held that having something of value to say about life is the important thing, not whether one expresses his or her personality. I agree.
Can’t say that I relate to Sally Mann’s photography. But I guess beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
I feel the same way. Art is a funny thing. It is a head scratcher how some become so well known and other’s do not. In the case of Mann, I am unclear if her poor technical results are on purpose, she doesn’t care, or doesn’t know how to improve. The narrative of her work tries to make the case that all of her imperfections support the artwork, but I personally see it as sloppy work.