One Hangin’ and Heave Ho: the Compelling Cool of Environmental-Documentary Portraits

Heave Ho
Fred Shangin, cigarette hangin’ as per, puts his back into a pot of Tanner Crabs from Castle Bay off the gulf side of the Alaska Peninsula. May 6, 2018

Going through these many thousands of photos from The Lake and beyond – while at the same time these past few days putting together a magazine piece paying tribute to a recently deceased mentor and friend from my Pennsylvania youth – I find myself recognizing that as photographers one type of image we might not capture often enough is portraits of friends. The best of these photos are often environmental-documentary portraits – my own hybrid category to describe pictures that capture the subject in an authentic act of life in a setting that tells the viewer about that person’s life. There’s an art to it… the photo that isn’t staged; that doesn’t depict the subject self-consciously looking into the lens (or self-consciously looking away from the lens); an image that captures an authentic moment rather than a pose.

For me, learning to make these types of images has been predicated on a lengthy process of growth toward freedom from my own limiting shyness. Coupled with the kind of confidence that enables a photographer to make such portraits is, I think, a necessary agreement – tacit or verbalized – that gives the photographer permission to shoot at will (with appropriate discretion).

Strictly environmental portraits are in most cases staged. In making such an image, the photographer might have the subject sit at her fly-tying table as she ties or gives the impression of tying a fly. Noticing clutter, the photographer tidies up the scene. Further compositional considerations prompt lighting manipulation – perhaps nothing more than slightly moving a lamp or opening or closing a curtain, but manipulation nonetheless. Clothing choices are given thought, a certain tilt of the subject’s head is decided upon as favorable, perhaps a few already-tied flies are placed in the foreground, a book arranged so that it’s title can be read. Images such as this have their place, but to me there’s a compelling cool in a real-time photograph – a moment frozen, captured, documented as is with no quick brush through the subject’s hair, the everyday jacket with its stains, imperfect lighting, maybe a little motion blur or grain.

And in the case of the above photograph, one hangin’.

The Fox We Called Skit

Photographic portrait of the Red Fox fox we named Skit. Chignik Lake, Alaska.
The Fox We Called SkitFoxes were attracted to the Spruce Grove where we had hung several bird feeders. The birds attracted them, no doubt, but they also ate seeds from the ground and probably caught a vole now and then. Skit was skittish and his right eye was bad. I was fortunate to get his left side in good light. Chignik Lake, 1/2/17

On a Frozen Sea

On a Frozen Sea, the two of us, April 14, 2013, near Point Hope, Alaska. This is about two miles from the village of Point Hope on a trail broken through huge chunks of ice, as seen, and marked here with a hook. Sea ice here is several feet thick – safe enough, but several of our local friends had stories about getting temporarily stranded when the ice they were on ice broke free from the main sheet. The gun is a precaution against Polar Bears.

I’ve enjoyed going back through photographs from our four years in Arctic Alaska. Although there are a number of additional pictures I’m reasonably happy with, the truth is that most of the images we made in those years constitute memories rather than art. As self-taught photographers, we still had a lot to learn about light, and how cameras interpret light, and composition, and optimal camera settings, lens choices and technique. Moreover, the images we made in those early days have a somewhat random feel about them as we hadn’t yet developed a vision for how we wanted to shoot and what we wanted to make images of… what stories we wanted to tell. We’d love to go back and revisit those scenes, and from time to time we discuss the possibility… but as Frost warned, way leads to way.

When we left Point Hope in the spring of 2014, we traveled to Mongolia where we lived for the following two years. We’re looking forward now to revisiting that collection. So, we hope to see you “in Mongolia!” JD