The Anatomy of a Light Painting
The Anatomy of a Light Painting
PLUS: Debut of our new work!
Do you fully embrace the most challenging adventures that catapult you from your bubble, effectively turbocharging your growth? Or are you bundled up in the resistance that keeps you cozy, secure, and well-rested (…albeit stagnant and even a bit bored out of your mind?)
Even though I’ve taken some big risks over the years—this art business very much included—I still tend to play it safe and make calculated choices rather than blind leaps. And yet, in hindsight, those precarious chances I have taken are always a blast, packed with juicy life lessons that satiate my thirst for the wild and weird.
I know the thrill of holding my breath as I face that big scary door…
cautiously turning the knob to open it…
gingerly stepping over the threshold…
…and then marveling at the Wonderland I’ve entered.
And yet, I’ll often just leave that door closed, too scared even to approach.
We just shot a brand new photograph that—for me, at least—captures the mental gymnastics that surround that terrifying electrifying next chapter. But before I get into the Magic, let’s talk Science. They make the best bedfellows, after all.
A Door in the Dakotas
In our early art show days, we featured this photograph of a door outline on top of a set of lonely steps to a place that is no more.
To create the image, we hopped a fence in the ghost town of Sims, North Dakota, paying no mind to the No Trespassing sign. Of all our pieces, this one’s the biggest challenge for folks who don’t yet understand how Photoshop or computer manipulation is NOT at play here. They’d all ask the same questions:
If it’s not Photoshop, how did you put the door there?
If you’re drawing the door, why can’t I see you on the steps?
Are those all shooting stars?
Why does it look like day, but I can see stars?
And if you’re new here (oh, hi!), perhaps you’re also curious. But why put you through a snorefest of a lecture about f-stops, shutter speeds, and ISO? For the past seven years or so, we’ve given the same talk to elementary and middle school kids and found that there’s no need to explain our process like it’s a chapter out of our Canon owner’s manual.
Strange news from another star
What we call “star trails” in the biz are a key indicator of a night photograph’s time-lapse as the earth rotates. And if you think about it for a minute, it’s a little dizzying, but a pretty magical reminder of how we’re just spinning away down here.
During the time-lapse, the camera’s shutter remains open for three-to-four minutes. Compare this to the lightning-quick “eye blink” of a typical camera or phone photo. Imagine you’re in your bedroom, and you shut off the light. If you blink, you probably can’t see much of anything. But if you keep your eyes open and your pupils dilate like a camera lens, shapes start to appear as your eyesight acclimates to the dark and registers more light over time. While not exactly the same as the science of long-exposure photography, especially digital, at least you get the gist.
Bang at the door, anyone home?
Ok, so the shutter is open, and the camera photoreceptors are recording everything. Imagine me on top of the steps, armed with an LED flashlight.
I quickly draw a lifesize rectangle, hide the flashlight under my palm, move the flashlight to my middle-right, and then draw a small circle. Six seconds later, I’m done, and I’m scampering down the steps and outside of the camera’s view. We’ll get to why I don’t show up in the image in a sec.
Marvelous night for a moondance
Because we usually shoot during the full moon, our photos can sometimes look like daytime, especially regarding the weather and moon’s placement in the sky. Winter usually offers up a very crisp, clear night with a high moon that bathes the landscape with light. We’ve also shot during the Supermoon when its orbit is closest to the earth, giving us a few more degrees of luminosity than usual.
A camera is much different than our eyesight in that, in low light conditions, photoreceptors still register color while our eyeball cones need a lot more light to do so. This is why our photographic night skies look so much bluer than the dark desaturated sky we physically see.
Ghosts appear and fade away
To illustrate why my body doesn’t show up while I draw the door, here’s an alternative take of the “Dakota Door” photograph where Chris and I stand at the top of the steps for about 30 seconds, then run down out of frame, but keep the shutter open for another few minutes.
In this technique, we look like ghosts because—while our bodies are initially exposed by moonlight—after we leave the frame the background landscape begins to fill in where our bodies once stood, not unlike a double exposure.
These images are a great example of the physicality of the work. The camera and flashlight are tools, like a painter’s brush. The “art” happens by our handiwork and labor. There’s usually a lot of running involved. And sometimes climbing. Honestly, it’s really more of an art performance than a traditional landscape photograph.
Through this tunnel of love
Speaking of labor… when you put it all together, it all seems so easy. Until it’s not.
After many years in our catalog, we decided to retire the door on the steps. Chris has been begging me to help him recreate a new doorway image he’s dreamt about ever since he found the Quincy Tunnel tucked underneath the railroad tracks near our house. But I kept putting it off because, deep down, I knew it would give us hell.
Hot damn if I wasn't right.
Let’s take a look at this sampling of outtakes. Remember, we’re not trying for a batch of individual shots to Photoshop together. We need one to be The One.
First: let’s practice getting the door right.
Woof.
Ok now let’s try to balance the blue-meets-orange tunnel light painting AND nail the door at the same time.
Betterish, but yikes. Ok let’s keep trying…
And trying…
…
While a single photograph of the door and the tunnel took less than 30 seconds to create…it took over 100 tries and two nights to get “right.”
Getting the best door proved to be the toughest challenge (I swear, the curve of the tunnel was throwing my perspective and I.could.not.get.it.straight.) But the major blunder was the orange blast coming from me and my flashlight down at the end of the tunnel. While we were looking at the images on the tiny LCD screen, I thought I wouldn’t be bothered by it because of all the streetlights coming from that end. But once we got home and I looked at the images on a 21.5-inch screen, I hated it.
I declared a full redo that next night. This time, I brought a sheet of black Coroplast to hide behind while I illuminated that part of the tunnel.
Here’s a video of the entire process without the Coroplast so you can see exactly what I’m doing.
Isn’t it funny how, when you learn the secret of the magic trick, it’s often a no-brainer? As I mentioned earlier, we teach young students how to draw and paint with light, hoping they’ll try something like it at home. If you have the camera, give it a whirl!
Practice makes less-than-perfect
As with anything, the process itself may look easy, the best results take time. As I said, it took us over 100 shots and two nights to get this “right,” and I used air quotes because, as you’ll notice in this big reveal, the final photograph is definitely not perfect.
The door frame wavers and, at the back of the tunnel, you can see just a hint of my ghosted legs as the ambient light illuminates my body during the time-lapse. These so-called “flaws” are the mark of the human hand, rather than the precision of a Photoshopper.
It’s the imperfections that separate craft from commodity.
Finding Wonderland
Again, I knew this image would be a challenge to pull off. It’s why I faced so much resistance getting myself into that dank, dark tunnel. Once we got it though, in hindsight, the little adventure was a full of those juicy life lessons. Even during the part where I kept whisper-yelling at Chris: don’t you think I WANT to get the door straight?!
Whenever you find yourself at the precipice of a weird, wild, trippy next chapter, it’s probably not going to go perfectly, now is it? Let this image encourage you to jump into whatever Rabbit Hole beckons you, despite your misgivings about what it will take to get through the other side.
Don’t wait. Open the door.
The hard work is worth it.
The challenge is always the key to unlock the way out of the way in.
Now you go!
What less-than-perfect project are you still very proud of because of what you learned?
What epic challenge do you appreciate now in hindsight?
What’s something you’re scared to try? (Maybe we can nudge you in the DO IT direction!)
Interested in purchasing this photograph? You’re in luck! Its show debut will be at the Columbus Arts Festival this weekend, but because you’re on the list, you get the first glimpse!
Wicked cool! As soon as I was done reading, I had an idea for applying this technique! I think it might even include a tunnel very much like yours that I've been going thru since I was a kid. You're making me think of it in an entirely new way! I've used my flashlight to fill unlit areas of a subject, but never really thought about how to use it to create a subject. Thank you for the in-depth explanation! Can't wait to try it!
This is so cool. It brought to mind an old kids' TV show I watched when I was wee called Simon in the Land of Chalk Drawings, but you're drawing with light and the pictures come true. And you're a lightweaver, like in the Stormlight Archive. But overall, you're an artist and I love what you make!