I do a little moonlighting for a small computer and imaging company that rhymes with Snapple. They are under the mistaken impression that my nearly 40 years behind the camera means I know what I’m talking about. Still, I like the challenge. One of my first tasks as their Creative Storytelling Specialist (yeah, I don’t know what that means, either) was to help the engineers understand mood as it relates to picture-making.
So to get a head start, I did some poking around the internet in hopes that people with greater minds than I had already articulated the idea of mood. Mostly what I found was the advice to “put more mood in your photographs,” as if I were being told to add more salt to every recipe. Not helpful.
The problem with mood is it’s not really one thing. Add mood? What kind of mood? If mood is about emotional connection then surely we can be more specific about which emotions. But before we disregard the advice entirely, it’s worth acknowledging that it comes from a good place, a recognition of the power of mood.
The desire for more mood in our photographs—not unlike the desire for more salt—is a desire for more flavour. Only in this case, the flavour is emotion. It’s a desire to move beyond the pursuit of perfection in our images toward something a little more poetic. Poetry is about feelings; unless you’re working as a forensic photographer, feelings are probably something you hope to stir with your photographs. And that requires interpretation. It requires making choices that sway an emotion one way or the other. It requires taking some risks because almost every choice that leads to more emotion in our images is a choice that deviates from the playbook we were all given with our first cameras. It’s a move away from average and towards more flavour. Pass the salt, please.
So back to my early efforts to articulate mood as a powerful tool (more like a toolbox, really) in photographic expression. Once I got over the confusion about why so little insightful information was out there, here are the first three realizations I had.
You Can Learn Mood
Mood isn’t the result of secret techniques, or even advanced techniques. It’s more a result of refined sensibilities. Maybe it’s also a matter of priority. It’s in looking for it, chasing it. It’s in recognizing it when you see it and knowing which choices can amplify those emotions through the image. And those are all present as visual cues that we can see and learn from. You can learn this.
Set the camera aside for a moment and think about a photograph that you love—one that stirs something in you. Maybe one of the iconic images that made so many of us feel the power of the photograph and want to pick up the camera ourselves so we could find that power and beauty. What makes you feel the way you do about that photograph? Is it only the subject matter?
I love bears, but not every picture of a bear makes me feel anything. Some make me feel bored. They lack mood. But the ones I love? It’s more than a bear. Bear in great light, perhaps. What kind of light is it, and what did the photographer do with it? Maybe it’s a bear in a great moment. Maybe it’s the camera placement or a story implied by other elements in the frame. Maybe—probably—it’s all that. Whatever it is, you feel it because of something you see. And if it’s something you can see, it’s something you can learn.
In short, don’t spend more time studying your technical tools than you spend figuring out your mood tools.
Light Is Everything
The first thing we look to when we chase mood is light. And so it should be. Light is so often the first thing that hooks us. We feel something about light that resonates with us. We feel differently about backlight than about front-lit scenes. We feel differently about softer light than light that’s more direct and makes harsh shadows. We respond to the shadows and reflections created by light. Where light is concerned, what we seem not to respond to is, well, boring light. Average light. That’s not to say you can’t make expressive photographs in boring light, but it won’t be light to which we respond but something else. A different hook. So if light is so powerful, why do photographers insist on painting with anything but light that has the power of an emotional hook? If you want mood, look to the light.
It’s Not All About Light
At the same time, it’s not all about light. There’s a reason photographers use different focal lengths, and it’s not just to “get more reach” or get more in the frame. It’s because different lenses feel differently. They interpret a scene differently. So do the places in which we put the camera. And the weather. And our choice of moment. Of course light isn’t truly everything. All our choices, all the elements, are everything.
And that’s the problem with “put more mood into your photographs.” It’s every decision we make—or it can be. But here’s the other problem with mood: there are no rules. There are hooks, elements and choices that we do or don’t respond to, but there’s no playbook. Not really. And so it comes down to having a sensitivity to those hooks, taking risks, and knowing what stirs the OMGILT (Oh my God, I love that!). Many things stir emotion in our images—and nearly infinite combinations of them—but you won’t love to use them all. You won’t love the same colours I do. You won’t be as excited by the same focal lengths or perspectives nor drawn to the same subjects or stories.
Your Turn. There’s a Prize.
Are you up for an exercise? How about if I put a prize on the line? In the comments on my blog, tell me about that photograph I asked you to imagine a few paragraphs ago. Describe it. Tell me why you feel the way you do about it. It’s probably not just one thing, but many. What gives that photograph its mood, or what makes you feel the way you do about it? Don’t hold back. I’ll draw one person’s name from the comments below for a free enrollment in my next course, which may or may not be available very soon and is all about mood and making photographs that elicit a more powerful emotional response. Who’s in?
For the Love of the Photograph,
David
