The Definitive Portrait

Portrait of a leader

There are different kinds of portraits. The casual portrait, the kind people snap of friends and loved ones with their cameras or cell phones; the studio portrait, intended to show the subject at his or her best, perhaps with a bit of flattery; and the business portrait, designed to show the subject as friendly, accessible, and capable, the kind of person from whom you might want to buy insurance or a house.

There's also the corporate portrait, portraying strength and leadership; and the editorial portrait, giving insight into who the person is and what he or she does.

My favorite kind of portrait is what I term the definitive portrait. It's closely related to the editorial portrait, but goes deeper, showing not only what the person looks like, but also revealing something about his or her character.

The absolute master of the definitive portrait was the great Canadian photographer Karsh, whose books are a catalog of world leaders of his day in various fields. If you are of a certain age and the name of Hemingway or Churchill is mentioned, the picture that comes into your mind would almost certainly be a Karsh portrait.

I've done a number of portraits in my career that I believe are definitive, but the one I consider most successful is of a man who was the founder of a university and pastor for many years of a church that at one time was one of the largest in the world.

When I was asked to make his portrait, he was 78 years old and still active in the work to which he had given his life, although no longer involved in day-to-day affairs. My goal was to make a portrait which would reveal something of his character and be definitive of the later years of his life. In other words, I wanted to make the portrait by which he would be remembered.

I approached the assignment with a small degree of trepidation, because I knew I would only get one chance. He was not known as a man of great patience, nor did he suffer fools gladly. I set everything up in advance of the session in a large room near his office so that he would only need to walk in and take his seat. I chose floodlights rather than strobes, because I felt he would be more comfortable with steady light than constant flashes.

Two lights were placed behind his position at 45 degrees to each side. The third was in front, at a slight angle to my right. My camera, a Hasselblad 500CM with a 150mm f4 Sonnar lens, was loaded with Fujichrome RDP 100 transparency film, and two additional backs were also loaded and ready.

I greeted the subject as he entered the room, helped him take his seat on the posing bench, gave him a few words of instruction, and began to work. Neither of us spoke much. After exposing two rolls of film, I felt I had what I wanted. I thanked him, he left, and I began to pack up my equipment. Portrait encounters, for me at least, are often like that. Intense, but brief.

Did I capture something of his character? What do you think?

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts?

(Photograph copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone

I Like Cameras, But . . .

Shaped logs on the beach at Madras, India

I do. I like them a lot. But, relatively speaking, I don't write about them all that much. I'm told by photo-blogging friends that if I were to write about cameras more often I would have more readers. Many people want to read and learn about the latest and greatest in the camera world because they have bought into the lie that better cameras would make them better photographers. Unfortunately, that's not the way it works, because photography is not about cameras, but about life. What we do with our cameras if we are truly photographers and not just gadgeteers is record life as we see and experience it.

I may not have as many readers this way, but as I say in the introductory column to your left, I write the blog I would like to read if someone else were to write it.

So I would rather write about photography itself, rather than cameras. (Cameras are certainly necessary to do photography, but cameras themselves are not photography).

Or about life. Or about my life in photography. Cameras are the key that opened the door to this life, but they are not the life itself. Nonetheless, I owe those little tools big time. My cameras have taken me to many places I could never have gone and opened the door to many experiences I would never have had. So I'm grateful.

But when I write, I like to write, not about the cameras, but about the places they have taken me. And about the things they have made it possible for me to see and experience.

Because of my cameras, I was able to see fishermen come down to the city beach at Madras, India early in the morning to lash rough-hewn logs into a makeshift boat, launch it through the surf, and move out to a day's fishing.

Perdue's Mill near Clarkesville, Georgia

With my cameras I have driven many thousands of miles to create books about the backroads of Georgia. Although I have lived in Georgia for 45 years, I did not realize just how much I loved the state until a stranger looked at my photographs and told me what he saw in them.

Through my camera, I saw the setting sun throw a beam parallel to the ground and against the wall of a rural mission hospital in Nigeria, creating a scene of beauty and mystery.

Because of my cameras I was able to attend a worship service of the Underground Church in Moscow. Something few westerners have ever seen.

With my camera I watched Dr. Jaime Gomez dispense medicine and the Gospel to the people of a remote village in the mountains of northern Guatemala.

My cameras have given me access to a blessed, privileged life. But the credit does not go to the cameras, nor to me. The credit goes to a loving and supportive wife and to the one named in the line that appears at the bottom of this page and on every blog I post.

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts?

(Photographs copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

 Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone

The Last Little Rock City Barn in Texas

Most folks are surprised to learn there were once Rock City barns in Texas.  Rock City had three on their records, but Clark Byers told me there were more, including one near Tyler that belonged to an oil millionaire who was so cheap he wouldn't have indoor plumbing. But that was a long time ago, and Clark didn’t remember the location of any of them.

So, as far as can be known at this time, the last Rock City barn in Texas is on Richard Haynes' little spread on U.S. Highway 80 west of Marshall.  Richard and his wife Vallie (who was born on the place) were getting along in years when I came along making pictures for the Rock City Barns book, but he still ran 17 head of registered Black Angus cattle on his 67 acres and kept the big yard mowed -- practically a full-time job in itself.

This is his second barn to carry the “See Rock City” message. The first one was a traditional style which was pulled down in the early ‘60s and replaced with the present “pole” barn. Rock City obligingly applied their sign to the new barn as well, and that’s the way it’s stayed. It’s pretty faded now, as well it should be – it was last repainted around 1967.

Richard Haynes and his barn.

Blog Note: I post Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings at alifeinphotography.blogspot.com. I'm trying to build up my readership, so if you're reading this on Facebook and like what I write, would you please consider sharing my posts?

(Photographs copyright David B. Jenkins 2020)

Soli Gloria Deo

To the glory of God alone