Guest Blog: Black and White Thinking

This month’s guest blog post titled Black and White Thinking is written by Jude Clay.

When the course leader, Phil gave us the challenge of taking black and white photographs, I was reluctant. I was sure I wouldn’t enjoy this. It’s the same when someone suggests watching a black and white film. I’ve so often felt like the characters in Pleasantville where their colourless lives are unfulfilling and restrained. Like them, I crave the vibrancy of colour that brings freedom and variety.

I had signed up to do the all-day photography workshop at West Stow Country Park. I had been looking for a photography course for at least a year because I wanted to learn how to use my camera better and how a real photographer would approach taking a shot. However, it had been hard to find one within my (very minimal) budget. The BFER-funded courses at West Stow Country Park are incredibly reasonably priced and take place over a whole six-hour day.

So, yes, I suppose you could say I asked for it really. Want to know how a real photographer might approach a shot? They’re fluid with their use of colour and, sometimes, they just don’t want it.

We set off down the path to the river, our cameras set to monochrome, and I sidled up to another woman on the course to see if she had ever taken black and white photographs before.

“No,” she said, conspiratorially, “but I took this just now while we were playing around with our settings and, look!” She showed me the new photograph on her camera screen as if it was some secret knowledge. It was of the floorboards in the classroom we had just been sitting in. I should have revised my opinion then; the shot was fantastic! Parallel, diagonal grooves led my eye through the picture and the lack of colour made it look like a work of art, not a hastily snapped test-shot.

We were beginning to realise the secrets to taking good photographs. It’s not about the price of your camera, it’s knowing how to use what you’ve got, being open to experimentation and, perhaps most importantly, seeing things differently.

At the river’s edge, Phil explained how to approach the composition of a black and white photograph. It’s about looking for contrast, a question of light, and a matter of texture. I felt nervous. He was asking me to look at the world in a way I had never tried before – it felt like I was going to have to crack my brain open and re-wire it all. He set us loose along the river and we went out contrast, light and texture hunting.

My first attempts were not good. I chose a clump of reeds jutting out of the centre of the river, but the riverbank on the other side was a mass of foliage and, without the variation in colour to create contrast and depth, my black and white image was like a solid scribble. But that was ok, we were here to experiment, and I was changing the way I saw things. It wouldn’t happen at once.

I tried to capture the light shining through some willow leaves, catching their pale veins and dark leaves against a sky so bright it appeared white. It nearly worked. But it wasn’t interesting.

Then I found an old bench. I can tell it was old because the broad-leaved comfrey and nettles were growing through it and adorning its arms. I love the romance of something man-made being reclaimed by nature and, however you looked at it, this bench was picturesque. Phil had taught us to consider different angles and heights to a shot, so I found the angle I wanted and took a shot. It was ok. But a bit washed out. I adjusted the exposure as Phil had taught me and took another. Better, but still not quite right. There was a swirling grain on the arm of the bench closest to me and I really wanted that to stand out. I adjusted the aperture (again, another lesson from Phil!) and tried again. I couldn’t believe the result. The texture of the wood on the bench lifted out of the soft grey leaves and grasses. It showed exactly what I had seen – the romance in that wooden bench being absorbed by the riverbank.

That was it, I was hooked. After that, every time I saw a tree with split bark, or scarred with initials carved into its surface, I switched to black and white. I even took a picture of a goose from above in monochrome – capturing the circular ripples that spread out, softening with each curve, from the smooth feathers of the bird.

I went on the course to improve my photography. I went on the course to learn how to compose better shots. I got all of that. But ultimately, my biggest gain was a new-found respect for the monochrome image that taught me a new way of viewing the world.

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Click here to read our previous guest blog post: Guest Blog: Noticing Nature on the Nine Stiles Walk