Saturation
There has never been a better time to look at photographs. Or a worse time.
Every day we're shown beautifully lit interiors, immaculate clothing, perfect coffee, mountain roads, old Land Rovers, watches, portraits, architecture, ceramics and landscapes. None of it is particularly difficult to find anymore - just open your phone and it's all there within seconds.
The standard has become incredibly high. The problem is that volume has risen even faster.
We're consuming more images in a day than we used to in months. By lunchtime you've probably seen enough "great" photography to fill a gallery wall. After a while, even genuinely good work begins to blur into everything else. It's not because the photographs aren't good - It's because we've forgotten how to really look.
The internet promised endless inspiration. Instead it often feels like endless consumption. We scroll from one image to the next, giving each one barely enough time to register before moving on. The next image has already arrived. Then another. Then another. Nothing has time to settle.
I sometimes wonder whether we've confused collecting references with developing taste. Saving images isn't the same as understanding them. Knowing what looks good isn't the same as knowing why it looks good.
Perhaps that's why so much of what we see now feels strangely familiar. The references are shared. The colours are shared. The compositions are shared. Eventually everyone arrives at roughly the same place - not because people lack talent, but because they're all looking in the same direction.
Recently, I've found myself becoming less interested in making images that shout and more interested in making images that simply ask you to stop for a moment. The world hasn't become less interesting. We've just become accustomed to looking past it.
Perhaps the antidote to saturation isn't making louder work. Perhaps it's paying closer attention and attention might be one of the rarest things we have left.
What do you think?
The Journal was never intended to be one-way.
If this piece resonated - or you disagree - leave a comment below.
Words & photo by Thom Barnett and Craig Fleming
Comments on this post (3)
Timely – I’ve spent half the day ‘favouriting’ holiday pics on my phone then deciding what ones to post then trying to avoid posting too many then what ones to delete then what to do with the ones I want to post but didn’t. These don’t strike me as preoccupations that existed when Tumblr was a thing and Insta was basically a trendier Flickr.
Deactivating doesn’t seem to be the answer, as I tried for 2 months but made a triumphant return, gaining a total of 6 new likes.
Flicking over to the ‘following’ tab (hiding ads and stories) could be a way forward as you’re only engaging with what or who you’ve chosen to follow.
On the taste point, you can travel the world and still land in a coffee shop with a familiar typeface above the door, the Sade tracks on the playlist, the same stainless steel circular stool, the same shallow water glass, and slightly different natural wine. Once you’re sat down, you could be anywhere.
The process of being inspired by what you see isn’t that different than when it was coming from magazines but the homogeneity of interiors is definitely driven by the fact that the algorithm, as atomised as it seems, is feeding everyone the same stuff on repeat. And as Gillian McKeeth (or whatever her name was) once shrewdly observed: you are what you eat.
— James
I agree with your observation , i seem to view so much repetition across instagram etc. Ive gone back to looking at the simple things in life and capturing those snaps that just catch my personal attention .
Nice piece , thank you.
— Paul
Spot on. Once upon a time, a great image stopped you in your tracks, and we all took the time to give it more thought, to look more closely and ponder the context in which it was created. Now, as you said, it’s a fleeting glance and move on to the next in a never-ending stream of algorithmic delivery. I dont know how to break the cycle, but I agree with all the points you raised.
— Patrick