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Photography • Art Criticism

25

Len

sWo

rk

Quarterly

Photography and

the Creative Process • A

rticles • Interviews • Portfolios

MA

Y-JUL

1999

No. 25 • May - Jul 1999

LENSWORKPhotography and the Creative Process • Articles • Interviews • Portfolios

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EssaysBill Jay • J. D. Marston

InterviewChip Hooper

PortfoliosBruce Barnbaum • Chip Hooper • Adam Jahiel

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Q U A R T E R L Y

All manifestations of art are but landmarks inthe progress of the human spirit toward a thingbut as yet sensed and far from being possessed.The man who has honesty, integrity, the love of

inquiry, the desire to see beyond, is ready toappreciate good art. He needs no one to givehim an art education; he is already qualified.

Robert Henri

Raised in Chicago, Hooper discovered his attraction to photographybefore he hit his teens. Seldom seen without his camera, he was imme-diately drawn to the lakes and rivers in the area.

Much later, his interest in music and his efforts to build a business as atalent agent in the music industry required his complete focus for sev-eral years. In the meantime, his love of photography was alive throughappreciation of books and photographic artwork. His photographiceducation was fueled by his love of the craft.

Eventually moving to Minneapolis for four years, it wasn’t until helater moved near the Big Sur coastline in California that he was re-united with his passion for photography. There, he felt the influence ofthe great masters - Adams, Weston, Bullock - and was re-inspired toseek his own vision within the West Coast tradition of photography.

When not absorbed by the intensity of the music industry, Hooper en-joys a sense of solitude on the Big Sur coastline. He lives in CarmelValley with his wife and children.

Chip Hooper is represented by the following galleries: Robert Klein Gallery (Boston), TheAnsel Adams Gallery (Pebble Beach, Yosemite National Park), Alinder Gallery (Gualala,

California), Edward Carter Gallery (New York), and Photographic Image Gallery (Portland,Oregon). His work is also available on the web at http://www.hooperphoto.com.

INTERVIEW WITH

CHIP HOOPER

Brooks Jensen: It’s been my observation that a lot of peopleassume that artists live a life that’s differentfrom everyday people. But, in fact, you stillhave to mow the grass, go to work in themorning, pay the bills and do all that stuff.Is it fair to say that the difference isn’t in theeveryday things that we all do, but is in theway one integrates everyday life and the lifeof a photographic artist?

Chip Hooper: That’s right. I have two kids and a wife anda job and all that.

BJ: What do you do for a living?

CH: I’m a booking agent for bands – mostly rock-n-rollbands – a lot of well-known groups.

BJ: So, you’re semi-retired or independently wealthy?

CH: (laughing) Not even close!

BJ: So, you’re at the office early in the morning and therelate at night, doing business, paying your taxes,managing staff, – and there comes a time when you saytime out, I gotta walk away from this, and you grab yourcamera and head down the coast?

CH: Right.

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BJ: How often do you get a chanceto do that?

CH: All the time. I keep my camera,tripod and a bunch of film holdersalways in my car. When I’m drivinghome from work I can get a peek tosee what it’s looking like out there,and if it looks like an opportunityfor some great light, then I just callmy wife and say that I’ll be home inan hour or two and I go down thecoast. I’m so familiar with that areathat I’ll just pick a place in my mind,go there, and see what happens.I get out there all the time.

BJ: How far is Big Sur from where youlive and work?

CH: I live twelve miles inland in CarmelValley, and work in Monterey,which is basically on the water.From where I work to where I makemost of my coastal photographs isprobably 15 or 20 minutes.

BJ: So, you’ve strategically chosen asubject matter that you have easyaccess to.

CH: Absolutely.

BJ: We published a book by DavidHurn and Bill Jay (On Being APhotographer), and that was one of

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their big contentions – that thecritical mistake that a lot of photog-raphers make is choosing somethingto photograph that is difficult to getaccess to. They often can travel tothese locations only every five yearsor so — and then they wonder whythey don’t get decent photographs.

CH: They never get enough time there …

BJ: David and Bill contend that the keyif you want to be a photographer ofaccomplishment and have a body ofwork is to have access to subjectmatter that you can get to in lots ofdifferent weather, at different timesof day, during different moods, andthrough different growth experi-ences in your life. It sounds likeyou’ve done that.

CH: As a kid I always photographedaround Lake Michigan becauseI grew up in the Chicago area. I wasalways photographing around lakesand rivers – photographing water.When I first got into the musicbusiness I got side-tracked and myphotography got put on hold for anumber of years. But eleven yearsago we moved here, and it was likearriving home. But it was evenbetter than where I had been –because here was the PacificOcean — here was the Big Sur

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Coast! – which was somethingI instantly responded to, and wasinstantly drawn to. There is awealth of great photography aroundhere, too – old and new – andeverywhere you look there areAnsel Adams prints and EdwardWeston prints, and Brett Westonprints – and all this great inspira-tion. This area of the coast isunbelievably inspiring to me.

BJ: To a certain degree, the Big Sur coastis cliché material. Everybody whoseriously takes up a camera eventu-ally goes to the coast and photo-graphs. Most people don’t do avery exciting job of it, and if they dothey end up with the cliché sunset-and-rocks calendar photo. It’s aninteresting challenge, photograph-ing a cliché. You’ve photographedextensively in this area, but theimages you get are not cliché.They’re actually quite visionary insome regards. So, how do youapproach cliché subject matter?

CH: I lived in Minneapolis for four yearsbefore I moved out here and I had alot of photographic posters aroundmy house out there. One of themwas a Morley Baer poster ofGarrapata Beach. Back when Ibought that poster in MinneapolisI had no idea who Morley Baer was,

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and I had no idea where that coastalpicture was made. I was just buyingposters to put up in my place, andthat was one of them.

I just came out here and startedexperiencing the coast and wasreally inspired to photograph.I think what’s happened with meis that I live in a place where I haveaccess. I’m intimately familiar withthe subject matter because I spendso much time there. I have a reallyhigh level of passion for that subjectmatter. It may be that my level ofpassion for the subject matter is sointense that I worked past theclichés quickly. I know I made a lotof trite images at first, and I think Istill make some. You can’t help it ifyou’re out there. Every time you setup the camera you’re not going toget a great photograph!

BJ: But when you came to GarrapataBeach and saw that Morley Baerimage in front of you, you had tolook it and say no wonder he photo-graphed it – it’s there, right there – it’san obvious thing to do. So, when youdrive to Yosemite and get toWowona Point and look out acrossthe valley you think of course Anseldid Clearing Winter Storm from here– it’s the logical photograph!

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CH: (chuckling) Exactly…

BJ: So the question now becomes: howdo you photograph Yosemite witha different vision? Or how do youphotograph the Big Sur Coast witha different vision?

CH: This is sort of where – for lack of abetter term – the magic comes into it.When I go to Yosemite, I have areally hard time photographing.It’s as if everywhere I look there’sa picture that has been taken thatI really love. So I don’t take mycamera along because I don’t seepictures as often as I do at the coast— pictures that I really get excitedabout under the context of being mypictures.

BJ: Well, Ansel Adams lived there.

CH: Exactly. And I live here on the coast.The way I make what I consider tobe my own photographs is thatI spend a lot of time at the coast.That combines with my passioninto my own vision.

BJ: I think one of the key ideas heremight be the concept of the relation-ship. One of the problems withphotography is that you can go intoan area that you have no relation-ship with and you make photo-

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graphs. You can just snap away,and something will show up on thefilm. Whether it’s good or badmight be a little bit of luck, but it’snot likely that it will result in adeeply felt photograph because therelationship to the subject matter isrelatively shallow. So if you want tomake significant photographs, to acertain degree one of the keys is tohave a relationship with the subjectmaterial that is in itself deep…

CH: I completely agree…

BJ: How long have you been photo-graphing the Big Sur coast?

CH: I made my first significant imagethere in 1993; that’s when I doveback into photography.

BJ: And how many times would youestimate — off the top of your head— that you’ve been there withcamera in hand since then?

CH: (chuckling) Countless… I try to getout there every week, but then Imay not get out there for a monthbecause I’m just really busy in thedarkroom. We usually close ouroffice for two weeks in Decemberand I might get out there three tofive times a week during that time

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of year. I probably average fortytimes a year.

BJ: So, it’s reasonable to say that you’vebeen out there two to three hundredtimes with camera in hand…

CH: Absolutely…

BJ: And you have, say, twenty “keeper”photographs, of which we’re pub-lishing a good portion in this issue.My point is that there is a lot moretime being spent there than onewould necessarily know unlessyou understand the photographicprocess.

CH: Exactly. It’s like a relationship —when you’re willing to devoteyourself to it, there can be biggerrewards than expected. SometimesI’ll go there not even remotelythinking that the light is going tohappen, and it does happen. Or I’llgo out there thinking that the light isgoing to happen, and it doesn’t. It’sjust that I like being out there somuch. If you spend enough time ina particular place and really get toknow it you acquire, on a practicallevel, the knowledge that you needto at least increase your odds ofbeing in the right place at the righttime. I’ve found that certain placesmay be really interesting at a high

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tide or low tide, a cloudy day orwhatever. Certain conditions maylend itself to making great pictures,so you increase your odds byknowing the place intimately. Butthe really, really, special pictures —the ones that we all are rememberedby — not the hundreds in thedrawer that no one will ever see —are the ones that came from takingthe time to know the place.

BJ: And it’s likely to meet you on yourterms rather sparingly…

CH: Totally, absolutely…

BJ: In addition to the Big Sur coastalphotographs published in this issue,we’re simultaneously publishinga presentation in the LensWorkMultiMedia Library with your workfrom the Anasazi Ruins. Now, thisis obviously a place that you don’tlive close to, and that you can’t getto every week. So when you go toa remote location like that and youknow that your access is limited,how do you approach that differ-ently than Big Sur where you live?

CH: Well, first, I have to approach itwith more patience. I can’t expectthe Anasazi work to develop at thesame rate, with the same level ofquality, as the Big Sur work.

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I simply can’t put the time into itsince I don’t live there. But, whena friend first showed me the ruinsI had an immediate response tothem.

There’s another difference betweenthe Anasazi work and my coastalwork. On the coast, I feel stronglythat I’m attempting to make suc-cessful, individual images. WhatI’m doing in the ruins is definitelya series. I hope that they stand ontheir own individually — and theyshould, otherwise they’re notsuccessful photographs — but whatI’m doing is more on a documentarylevel. What I’m doing is makingcreative/documentary photographs.I’m hoping to say something aboutthe people who lived there, al-though it will take years to be ableto do that.

BJ: Two times now you’ve said thesame thing: You said that when yougot to the Big Sur coast you had thisimmediate affinity for it, and whenyou got to the Anasazi Ruins youhad this immediate affinity for it.You knew that you had to photo-graph in both of these places…

CH: No question…

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BJ: It’s a wonderful thing to have thatfeeling; it’s a great gift. But, noteveryone gets that feeling. Ormaybe they don’t know how to senseit. In a practical sense, how do youknow you have that feeling?

CH: That’s hard to put into words. Forme it’s immediate. How do I de-scribe that feeling? All I can say isthat the first couple of times that Ispent any amount of time out at theBig Sur coast I was visually reallyexcited, and there wasn’t a questionof whether I was going to takepictures — it was a question of getthe camera and get started. I guessI had a sense of urgency.

BJ: Was it the place that spoke to youor did you find in this place thatyou could speak?

CH: I’m not sure what you mean.

BJ: Let me ask it a different way — isthis a place that you looked at andsaid I love this place and therefore I amgoing to photograph it? Or, was it thatyou looked at the place and saidthere’s something in me that needs tocome out, and this is the place whereI can make it come out?

CH: The first; I loved the place. Myreaction was an immediate

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relationship with subject materialfirst and foremost…

BJ: Then you may not be a very success-ful magazine photographer if youwere given an assignment to gophotograph something by an editor.If you don’t have a passion for ityou would find that a difficult thingto do?

CH: I would totally find that a difficultthing to do. It’s the last thingI would ever want to do. I wouldhave a really hard time doingassignment photography.

BJ: You know, of course, that thisphilosophy is fraught with risk.You may go for a long period oftime without finding that subjectmaterial that really speaks to you.What happens when you don’t havethat creative inspiration from thesubject matter that is in front ofyou?

CH: I just keep looking. Eventually I seesomething and my camera is alwaysin my car. So, if I’m driving some-where and I see something I’ll stop— unless it’s going to make meoutrageously late — and I’ll make apicture. That happens frequently.

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BJ: So, for you one of the key strategiesis to have the camera in the car — asopposed to the individual who saysOK, I’m going to go on vacation fora week to Hawaii and that’s when I’mgoing to do photography – and the restof the time they don’t take thecamera.

CH: That’s true in terms of my process.I don’t do photography like someguys play golf, or do other hobbies.It’s not something that I schedule atime to do. It doesn’t have to bescheduled because it’s a part of mylife — just like my family and mywork are a part of my life. I’veintegrated photography into mylife. I’m always looking for apicture. Always.

BJ: So the idea of somehow steppingout of your life and becoming a full-time photographer — you know, thegreat fantasy of every photographerwho has a day job — is sort of nonsequitur for you, because you’vealready done that by making photog-raphy a part of your everyday life!

CH: Literally. There isn’t a day that goesby that I don’t do something photo-graphic. At the very least I’mlooking for pictures. When I wakeup in the morning I’m looking fora picture, when I drive to work I’m

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looking for a picture, when I drivehome — I’m always looking for atleast an idea; it’s part of my con-sciousness. In my car I have acropping device so if I see some-thing I can pull off the road andview it, size it up, and do it.

BJ: Well, you haven’t mentionedanything about getting in thedarkroom every week…

CH: To me there are two creative parts tophotography: the seeing part andthe printing part. To me everythingelse is just grunt work — figuringout the exposure, matting andmounting the prints, spotting theprints, and all of that.

BJ: So, whether you’re seeing in natureor seeing in the darkroom – it’s stillseeing. I’ve talked with otherphotographers and asked Whatwould you do if photography weresuddenly non-existent, or never beeninvented, or somehow — poof! — it’sgone from your life. What would youdo instead of photography? And someguys say that instead of tinkeringaround with cameras they mighttinker around with cars. And Isuspect that wouldn’t be youranswer…

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CH: No, I’m not a tinkerer. I’d besomeone who expresses themselvesvisually — painting, etching,drawing.

BJ: So you’ve seen the subject out in theworld, you’ve exposed a piece offilm, you’ve worked long and hardin the darkroom, and you have thefinished print. Where in thisprocess do you find your reward?

CH: There are two rewards for me. Themost important reward for me iswhen I can put it up in the gallery inmy house, and a few weeks or a fewmonths later I still have the samefeeling I had about the photographwhen I made it. That’s the biggestthing that I need. But, for me, thecycle is really completed whensomebody else comes in and gets acharge out it and really responds toit. It’s most rewarding whensomeone looks and has a strong,positive response. It’s important forme to have people look at thepictures and like them. I’d be lyingif I said it wasn’t.

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BIG SURand the

CALIFORNIA COAST

by

Chip Hooper

We are also publishing a portfolio of Chip’s work in the Anasazi ruins in the LensWork MultiMedia Libraryas well as several prints in the LensWork Special Editions Print Collection.

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For me, the process of creating photographs is a con-templative one. The best images seem to happen

when what I am feeling becomes one with what I am see-ing. It is those images that give me a strong feeling ofspirit, solitude, and a sense of passing time.

Occasionally I’ll photograph with other people, but havefound that this element of company can prevent me fromfinding the sought-after inspiration. It’s not until I amon my own that I can settle into the place and begin toappreciate what is waiting to be seen that day; only thendo I begin to develop a feeling for my surroundings, andthe sense of light. And only when I am willing to takethe time to settle into the place, and accept all that thisincredible place has to offer, do the best photographshappen.

I have always enjoyed sharing these private moments ofsolitude, through my photography, with others. It seemsto me the ultimate way of completing the process.

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Crashing waves and splash, 1994

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Three and a half birds on a rock, 1994

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Pffeifer Beach, 1993

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Dawn, Big Sur, 1998

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Doud Creek, 1997

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Dusk, Soberanes Beach, 1998

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Garrapata Beach, Winter, 1995

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The Tunnel, 1996

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Radiating Rock, 1997

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Sea Palms and Surf, 1993

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Receding Tide, Garrapata Beach, 1996

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Lone Rock, Pacific Coast, 1997

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Sea & Sky, Big Sur, 1998