Depth and Distance: Problems in Improvisation

I *think* that digital media lends itself to improvisation; I am not sure.

That is, my impression after a long while of watching people create with tools such as digital cameras, computers and software is that the medium favors working in an improvisational mode. I find this very interesting: in a sense, the speed offered by digital technology seems to allow for such quick experimentation that the process begins to feel like sketching.

The obvious comparison, of course, is to Jazz. Skills developed through constant work are applied to a direct and immediate problem -- where to take the song next, what to play right now. This brings up an obvious issue, though: while we have heard stories of musical geniuses who improvise incredibly well, the majority of improvisation is repetitious and often shallow. Think of the solos exchanged by bar bands all over the world, the noodlings of beginning guitar players, the distracted humming of people walking along the street.

A comparison of improvisation (characterized, one hopes, by the unexpected, the fresh, the new) and composition (allowing for a refinement of ideas, time to consider and reconsider, and the realization of technical perfection) reveals inherent weakness in an improvised approach: if we assume that artists are imperfect, it seems likely that improvisation will be flawed or at least limited.

Still, I can't help but think of digital work as built for speed. Also, where any sensible person would conclude that it might be wise to improvise in an effort to shake loose new and wild ideas, and then follow this with disciplined reworking and a process of perfecting, I falter at the idea of advocating this approach. My guess is that with all risk eliminated, with the stakes reduced to nothing, improvisation becomes pointless.

Where exactly is the line between improvisation and composition?

I believe it resides wherever work is done in unknown territory. The slower, perfect work of composition allows for testing, proving, determining. The process of improvising demands a state of not being sure.

It also requires that the artist be present. Composition is done at a distance from the audience. The risk of being right in front of the viewer (whether one is playing a solo of showing a work created just this week) is a part of improvisation.

I consider the works in "Depth Charge: Digital Anaglyphs from the Digital Studio" to be improvisational in nature.

Each image in this show is a pairing of a Keystone Mast photograph, taken with a stereographic camera decades ago, and a new image generally made with a digital camera and Adobe Photoshop. (Digital scans were also used by some of the artists.)

Both images are shown in "anaglyphic" format -- meaning that if seen with inexpensive "three-D" glasses (with a red left lens and a blue right lens) they give the illusion of a three-dimensional image. In this form, images seem to possess depth, revealing a foreground, middleground and background.

The process of putting the show together was one of inviting artists to react to photographs found in the Keystone Mast Collection. Keeping to our digital approach, we emailed 25 artists small images from the collection, sorted to have some plausible connection to the artist's work or approach.

The artists in the show are those who responded to the challenge, learning our technique for creating digital anaglyphs, then using this method to create an image. In a sense all the artists involved are exploring new ground, though using a technique that has its roots in the nineteenth century.

Do works made in this way -- a "play" in response to a challenge -- have "depth" in the sense we attach to layered, multifaceted, worked-and-reworked pieces made like that other nineteenth-century form, the novel? I'm not sure; my guess is that it may be outside of the nature of photography, especially digital photography, to go by that measure. Instead, in this sort of improvised work a viewer might see in a different way, for just a second, and that may turn out to be of equal value. I have three hopes for this show:

1. That the juxtaposition of these new and old works will allow viewers to consider three-dimensional imagery as a photographic medium rather than as a gimmick.

2. That the set of old and new photographs, taken as a whole, will point to possible reconsiderations of the material in the Keystone Mast Collection.

3. That the process, which takes the artists out of their standard way of working, will allow for photographs, improvisational in character, that will hold some interest, pleasure and value for those who view the show.

Ted Fisher Curator of Digital Media 9.30.01