How to take the best photographs at night
In an ongoing instructional series, photographer Alex Frayne gives CityMag a lesson in night photography.
If I were to ask how nighttime reveals itself, photographically speaking, what might you imagine in your mind’s eye?
Do you picture night in a realist mode, i.e. mostly darkness with pools of light, for example, a dark street with sodium lamps, and garden beds that are blackened, unlit by the sun? Windows lit dimly in orange hues?
Do you imagine night to represent the darkness of humanity, with monsters, literally and metaphorical, occupying the realm, in the mode of a horrorscape, inspired by Carpenter or Argento? Do you remember nighttime in colour or monochrome?
There are two motivating factors at play when the urge to shoot at night is strong.
One is to play around with long exposures on digital cameras for the fun of it (valid) and the other is, well, to create art. I’ll assume that readers are fluent in the basics of long exposure photos; this paves the way to discuss art.
Unequivocally, I see night photography with bright colours, hard metal surfaces, and a strange, dreamlike feeling that resembles a netherworld or an amalgam of both night and day. Often if I show someone a nightscape they will proclaim that it is, in fact, a daytime picture.
When I correct them they’ll look closely and slowly come around to a realisation that yes, indeed the photo is taken at night. There are ways to achieve this aesthetic, the most important being the concealment or light sources.
By hiding the true source of the light, you are creating a minor ‘tromp l’oeil’ – a little trick of the eye that puts the viewer on edge. This rule is not all encompassing though; sometimes it is impossible to cloak the light sources, they are as numerous as Stobie Poles in Adelaide. If this is the case, turn the tables and actually make these alien forms a feature of the photo. This can work well, especially at smaller apertures.
The thing you will notice immediately when applying long exposures to dimly lit surfaces in suburban and industrial areas is that the results, the photographs themselves, look nothing like what your eyes see when framing the shot.
This will inevitably lead you to question the art form, and that is natural and normal. The question may arise: does photography work optimally when the result of pressing the shutter is a kind of realism in rendition? Clearly, black and white photography proves the opposite. If realism is the aim, then photographers would shoot in colour, always.
Yet some of the most powerful photographs of the last 150 years were shot in monochrome, not colour. I would suggest that the better artists aim for a realism of emotion, not a realism of rendition.
Were David Lynch, Dali, Bunuel and John Waters concerned with realism? Most certainly not! They were, however, obsessed with the realism of emotion, the realism of nightmares, and the hilarity and humour and of the obscene and profane. A brilliant example of the anti-realism of night is a 1987 film; yes, of course, I’m talking about Near Dark, the debut directorial effort by Kathryn Bigelow.
The reason I am drawn to industrial areas with large soft light sources can be traced to my earliest photographic outings in the western suburbs for my book Adelaide Noir. I thought then, and still think now, that art in Australia often ignores the working class realm, and pays scant regard to the origins, places and people who make things, work at night, the people who toil away at difficult tasks for very little compensation and literally make the world run smoothly.
So what might be your reasons to enter the liminal world of night-time photography armed with a camera, tripod and your GPS? Don’t be mistaken, the reason can be pithy and personal. It need not be anchored in complex politics or dialectics or weighed down by turgid post-modernism designed to impress those fluent in Arts-Grant speak.
It might be as simple as “I work 9 to 5 in a horrid job, with psychopathic co-workers and I just long to be alone and to walk around taking photos of factories”.
It may be something more specific and personal, i.e. “Three generations of my family lived on that street, in that suburb, and I remember playing cricket at night with friends on a hot summer’s night”. It may be a form of therapy or affirmation – i.e. “I grew up here, it was a miserable experience, and I just wanted to escape”.
I am proud to have released the shackles of this past, and I’m back here, on this street, to proclaim victory over this besmirched past. I survived, and I will take a photo as a kind of artistic memento.
The night realm brings out these emotions; it is a summoner of the melodramas of life. The things above matter because at some stage, somebody out there might want to purchase a print or frame of your work. And that person will often discuss their personal stories in relation to why they want that work in their collection or on their walls.
Practicalities
It is best to find a friend to pair up with for nighttime shoots, preferably someone photographically inclined. The reasons are obvious, but as Jack Nicholson says when asked in The Pledge whether monsters exist, he replies, “yes they do”.
I would never, ever shoot through long lenses or zooms for this kind of work. It is simply impractical and prohibitive. I use only two lenses, a 28mm prime and a 50mm pancake. I use a medium-sized tripod, something which, when fully extended, puts my eyeline at viewfinder level, so I don’t need to crouch (or kneel) to get a look.
Make the most of the fact that the camera is fixed and steady. As a director might, you can frame the shot exactly as you wish, you can be very precise with this kind of set-up. You can bracket exposures, without rushing. Try the photo at 5 seconds @ f8, then 10 seconds, then 20 seconds. You will notice vast differences in each frame. Which will you choose?
Create a coherent series of night images, one that connects each work through the conformities of exposure, composition, mood and tone. Consistency and improvement are the twin notions that will compel you to keep hitting the pavement, under the moon and stars, camera at the ready.
Alex Frayne’s book Adelaide Noir is available from Wakefield Press.