FIRMAMENT

Some time ago, I was traveling by commercial airlines from the San Antonio area to Boston. I am always fascinated by the ability to travel across the continent by air and I delight in the view from such an elevated platform. When the plane's wheels touch down on the runway at my destination, it always seems too soon.

This flight was just such an eye-full since nearly the entire trip we encountered various forms of exciting atmospheric conditions. This was a great time to try some of the photographic experiments that I like to play with when confronted with such great subjects: huge, towering thunderheads, long stretches of unbroken cloud cover, and unusual sunlit conditions. Often, these experiments are interesting but never materialize in usable photographs since the cabin windows so frequently are very poor in optical quality.

Things like age-crazing, general scratching and scuffing, and big gooey smears of hair gel take a huge toll on the ability to take decent photographs. On top of that, reflections of bright things in the cabin can dominate the view as well. To mitigate some of these issues, I usually try to bring with me micro-fiber cloths to clean the window, and it's also a good idea to wear as much dark clothing as possible to reduce reflections. This trip I was doubly-blessed with a high quality, clean window, and sunlight directions that minimized any reflections.

At one point in mid-flight we were flying near 30,000 feet (over 5 miles up) and traveling along between two layers of clouds: a very high layer of thin clouds, and a lower stratum of complete cloud cover (the earth's surface was entirely hidden behind it). The colors of the sky, where it could be seen, were absolutely entrancing– from a light cyan/turquoise near the surface of the earth (the normal sky-blue we see from down here) graduating to a much deeper and purer blue looking up above the horizon.  When gazing up as high as I could see out of the window, the sky was nearly black, but still discernibly blue (maybe a blue-black or "midnight blue").

FIRMAMENT, © Bill Brockmeier, all rights reserved

I tried some different techniques to capture some of this scene, which overwhelmed me with the vastness of the layering of the clouds, and the pure beauty of the unadulterated colors.

I didn't look at the photos until several weeks after the trip, and when I did I found quite a few semi-interesting shots, but nothing that really stood out to me...until I came across one that I took as we flew between the two layers of clouds.  The image really took me back to when I was observing and enjoying it in person.

Recently, I decided to go back to that photograph and try it out in large scale on canvas. After the photograph had been printed, coated, mounted, and framed I sat the completed work up against the wall in my studio and was amazed at how it had come out. It looked to me, and had the feeling, much like the abstract paintings that I so admire. Then it hit me. Turning it upside-down, I thought "let's make it a little MORE abstract." This new composition, which placed the earth at the top of the canvas and the sky below it, was definitely superior to the conventional view.

The very dark blue of the highest atmosphere was now at the bottom of the image, giving it much more a sense of stability and solidity.  The light gray solid cloud cover was now a band of light towards the top, with the brilliant cyan/turquoise streaking between the two. The deep blue below, although actually a view of the high atmosphere appears to be almost water-like. But if it looks like water, where is the horizon, the distinction between the atmosphere and the ocean? The whole effect is a bit mystifying and one is reduced to the pure simplicity of enjoying the colors and the structure of the image, without being able to really ferret out what is going on.

The more I have looked at this image, the more it seems to me shrouded in the enigmatic mists of the original Creation itself.  Some of the opening phrases of Genesis ("Beginnings") say that "...God made the expanse (the firmament) and separated the water under the expanse from the water above it. And it was so. God called the expanse 'sky.' And there was evening and there was morning– the second Day."

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This photograph is available in an Extremely Limited Edition of only three copies, with just two remaining. The full, framed size is 20 by 72 inches.    Call now to reserve yours— 210-241-6132.

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Note: this article is the first in a weekly series that will showcase my Very Limited Edition photographs. For more information on these editions and how I produce them, click here or on the Very Limited Edition link in the upper right. 

Unexpected Gold

Growing up in the Midwest, I was absolutely enamoured with the deep pine forests of the Rocky Mountains. I had been born in Denver, but after our family moved to Kansas City we only visited the mountains as tourists once a year. The plains of Kansas and Missouri surrounded my home for a hundred miles in every direction and these were not populated by large forests of any kind, let alone the lofty pine. These evergreen trees were exotic to my young mind and seemed so different than the few hardwoods I was familiar with. The pines were incredibly tall, and rather than spreading broad branches in a horizontal scheme, they seemed to soar straight up into the heavens, their tops even tickling the feet of angels flying "up there."

Another way in which these pines seemed so superior to the oaks, maples, and sycamores I knew was that their "leaves" were made for the long haul. Unlike my lowly hardwoods, which weakly dropped their entire crop of leaves as the weather turned cool in the fall, the ever-green pines had wonderfully exotic needles with which they eternally clothed themselves. Even through the coldest arctic blasts the proud and stoic pines kept their deep green cloaks wrapped tightly about them. Never naked, never shivering in the cold, they seemed to laugh at what the winter threw their way.

BARELY GREEN, © Bill Brockmeier, 2012
All rights reserved by the artist

When I moved to South Texas thirty years ago, you can imagine my surprise when I discovered the "secret" held by the magnificent cypress tree. The Hill Country in which I live is filled with the clear, cold, fast rushing rivers and streams which host the wonderful cypress. These trees nearly always grow at the very edge of the rivers, thrusting their feet and legs– up to their knees– into the fresh water and solid rock limestone bed. Some of these huge seniors are known to have seen over a thousand seasons, and who knows how many floods.

These cypress giants seemed so much to me like the pines I idolized as a boy. They were incredibly massive and tall, as were the pines. This was certainly a "tree's tree" that fulfilled the biblical description of the "Cedars of Lebanon." And the finely divided leaflets seemed so much like the pine's needles. These were clearly in the "evergreen" class of trees. Or so I thought.

BROAD PALLET, © Bill Brockmeier
All rights reserved by the artist

After our first summer in South Texas, with the coolness of autumn descending from the north, we began exploring the Hill Country in earnest. As we approached one of the seductively clear rivers on our journey, I noticed something strikingly odd about it. This stretch of once magnificent cypresses was turning brown and some were already bare and apparently dead. How could this have happened? Was it some strange tree-specific blight killing them in succession? Was some out of control insect species to blame? Had something been dumped in the river and poisoned them? What a tragedy!

As we drove on and came to another river the same depressing scenario appeared at the river banks. We couldn't believe how badly this plague had progressed. We were somewhat deflated as we finally arrived home.

That evening, as I read about the bald cypress in our field manual of trees, I suddenly realized the ignorant mistake I had made. These cypress were NOT the evergreens I had supposed them to be, but were actually classified as deciduous trees! These trees were supposed to drop their leaves each fall. I sheepishly told my wife about the truth I had just discovered.

In the few decades since that time I have come to appreciate the rich gold, amber, and orange show the cypress makes each November. I now actually look forward to this unusual autumn display of deciduous splendor. It is kind of ironic that growing up in the Midwest, where gorgeous autumn trees are the norm, I now live in South Texas where most of the oaks are "live" (nearly evergreen), and this seemingly "evergreen" cypress is one of the few deciduous trees. As a wise man once said: "Go figure..."

The Ties That Bind

During an extended break in my recent jury duty in district court I remembered that a Fiber Art exhibition had been showing in the downtown gallery in New Braunfels. I made my way down there and was extremely gratified to find out that it was still on display.

FUCHSIA NECKTIE
© 2012, Nadia Kahn
photograph © 2012, Bill Brockmeier

Several years ago, the gallery had hosted a similar show and it was one of the most creative displays I had seen at the gallery. I believe this current show has topped that one. The exhuberence and passion these twenty-two artists have for their medium of choice is obvious in the works they have produced.

The range of style, approach and technique shown throughout the show is remarkable. There are small scale but serious works, like seen in the vertical showcase housing an incredible array of birdnest-like baskets. The colors, textures, and details displayed by this collection is wonderful. And then there are large, elegant, and thought-provoking works like the huge, vertically oriented silk design wafting in the breeze of the overhead fans.

While fiber-based works are not at the top of my mind when I think of creative pursuits, whenever I have the opportunity to view some serious examples I am always impressed by the possibilities. It's astounding to realize how this media can cover much of the same ground as painting, sculpture, architecture, and even photography. On top of that, you can even wear some of it!

The Feminine Thread

Though most of the works in the show are abstract creations meant to be displayed by hanging on the wall or standing on a table, there are certainly many that were made to be displayed on the human body. Of these, the great majority were scarves, hats, jackets, and dresses that were clearly intended to compliment the feminine form. And I suppose that is as it should be. Of the twenty two artists showing their work there, every one of them is a woman. Of course, not every single fiber artist in the world is a woman, but there does seem to be some sort of natural bond between the feminine psyche and the "thread."

SPOTTED RED NECKTIE
© 2012, Nadia Kahn
photograph © 2012, Bill Brockmeier

The sculptural qualities of these garments are quite remarkable. Even as static sculptures draped upon abstract manniquins in the show they are very dynamic in their form.  I can only imagine how truly dynamic they would be, draped upon a living, breathing, moving woman of flesh, and sinuously waving in the currents of air as she walks down the street.

The Masculine Scarf

Not every item of apparel in the show was intended for the feminine form. There was a trio of neckties that caught my attention. Even if not worn on the body these ties could be marvelous abstract paintings, worthy of framing and hanging on a wall in a place of prominence.  Their colors were sumptuous and their designs intruiguing. On top of that, they were fabricated from silk, insuring a tactile sensation satisfaction.

I'm a sucker for the feel of certain fabrics. Some of my earliest treasured memories (before I entered school) are times that I accompanied my mother to the various fabric stores she frequented. I loved leaving her behind as she scouted the store for some specific need. I would find my own adventures among the endless aisles of bolts of fabric that towered above my four year old frame. The colors and patterns alone were amazing enough to the sensation-sponge that was my mind, but what really hooked me was the way these fabrics felt to my little fingers and face. I couldn't help but touch them. To this day I can't go into a fabric store and only look.

Like the majority of men these days (at least those born post-mid-twentieth-century) I was not at first a fan of the "noose."  I viewed neckties as not-quite-necessary evils to be endured only once or twice a year, and I would avoid that if at all possible.  But several years ago I began to see them as something else. They seemed to have become such a rarely worn item around a man's neck that they have now transcended what they once were– a required uniform of drudgery– and are now a new freedom, offering a unique and refreshing opportunity for a man to wear art.  A generation or two ago, our culture afforded only women the common luxury of being draped with beautiful designs and creations.  Now men can just as easily (though maybe not as naturally) don the beautiful.  (...and if you need to learn how to tie a necktie, check out these manly videos...)

So, I paid for the two ties whose colors I especially appreciated and told the gallery docents I would be back to pick them up at the close of the show. I am looking forward to wearing these ties at the Texas Hill Country Invitational show in which I will participate the third weekend of October. Come see me there, and I might even let you touch my tie!

By the way— the beautiful neckties I now possess (and illustrated above) were painted by Nadia Kahn, an incredible silk artist whom you can contact at: NadiaKahnSilks@gmail.com

Light It, and Like It! (Part 3)

Another concern when installing art illumination is the angle created between the source of light, the art's surface, and the observer. For the most part, you don't want the angle such that the light will specularly reflect from the art's major surface directly to the viewer. A specular reflection is that glaring, shiny reflection you can get from a varnished oil painting, or glossy photograph, when it is illuminated from certain angles. This is like the reflection you get from sunlight glancing off the surface of water at a certain angle. Bright specular reflections like this will significanlty destroy the contrast of tonal gradations in a painting or photograph, resulting in washed-out colors and details.

Lighting Angle That Avoids Glare

Lighting Angle That Creates Glare

Alternatively, the avoidance of all specular reflections is not simply a hard and fast rule. It is possible that you may want to actually enhance and utilize some specular reflections, for instance, in highlighting the texture of interesting brushwork or palette knife impasto techniques. Here, specular reflections may be your friend instead of your enemy. The important thing is to make sure that the angle of illumination you use enhances the work rather than degrading it. Before simply guessing, you should always temporarily try the lighting in various angular relationships with the art before you permanently install it. When you find that "sweet spot" for the light that best shows the work, install it there.

Oil painting illuminated straight-on, 
little texture is evident, art appears flat
(SUNFLOWERS, © Nancy Bower, all rights reserved)

Oil painting illuminated with glancing light, 
brushwork texture is obvious and three dimensional
(SUNFLOWERS, © Nancy Bower, all rights reserved)

There is much more that could be said about the proper illumination of art, but this should be enough to whet your appetite and try it out for yourself. It is actually difficult to put "too much" light on an art object. Almost always (although there are exceptions) more light is better. Generally, you will find that the more light you put on the subject, the brighter and truer the colors appear, the easier fine details can be seen, and the greater the contrast range will be. About the only time that there can be too much light is when the light is either sunlight or fluorescent light– each of these should be absolutely avoided as they contain significant amounts of damaging ultraviolet light.

All of these effects having to do with more light being better are due to the idiosyncracies of the human vision system. More light is important for the appreciation of fine detail, since these features are mostly detected by the cone cells of human vision in the central high-resolution spot of the retina (the fovea). Since these cells are not very responsive to dim light, details can be lost when light brightness is low.

Also, the human perception of color is entirely dependent on these same cone cells, making it imperative that enough light is present to make color perception robust. Finally, although the dynamic contrast ratio of the human vision system is incredibly large (up to as much as a million to one), the static contrast ratio is fairly small (only about 100:1). This static contrast ratio has to do with how much of a tonal range can be perceived in a single illuminated view, as is the case of viewing a single work of art at a single time.  The greater the illumination, the more of the art's original tonal range can be appreciated.

Please, take the time, and make the modest investment required, to best illuminate the art that you so love. You appreciated it enough to spend a considerable amount of time finding it, and you spent a considerable amount of money to buy it. And the artist didn't spend their own emotional energy and creative capital so that you would hide it in some dim corner of your home or business.

Light it, and like it!

Don't Try Violating the Maier Principle (Part 2)

There is no good excuse for art to remain in the shadows, because excellent lighting is now both easy to afford and fairly simple to install. There are some absolutely wonderful high-end illumination systems out there, but you need not go that far to achieve a powerful result. There are many ways to go about it, but for my own studio/gallery presentation, and in my on-the-road art show booth, I use miniature quarz-halogen spot reflector-type bulbs (type GU10 in either 35 or 50 watt versions).

While these bulbs used to be fairly pricey, they are now inexpensive (only two to three dollars apiece) and easy to incorporate in a lighting setup. This is an excellent technology to use, as they are truly "broadband" devices and their continuous optical spectra will reveal all of the nuances of color gradation and subtlety in the artwork. Further, the built-in metallized glass spot reflector directs nearly all of the light onto the art itself, not wasting it in illuminating the room in general.

GU10 bulb, front

GU10 bulb, rear

Although CF (compact fluorescent) technology is a wonderful way of saving conserving electrical power, it is a very poor way (at least with the current devices available) of illuminating fine art. The problem is that the optical spectra of the light produced is not continuous, but broken into discontinuous spectral "bands" of light. This can then cause what is called "metamerism" when a work is viewed under it. Metamerism is when the colors of a material (the various pigments in a painting, for instance) appear a different color than expected under a different light source. If you want your art to appear as the artist intended, a broadband light source is essential. CFs are also a fairly "extended source," rather than a small "point source." This makes it such that the CF's light output cannot be effectively redirected to light only the art (like a spot light).

Current LED light sources, as expensive as they are, also have problems with narrow, discontinuous bands. Until this technology is improved in this area, LED lights should be avoided, too.

Miniature incandescent sources (like the  GU10 bulbs I mentioned previously) can be used in a vast array of lamp types and configurations. Your local home improvement center is generally a great place to find these fixtures. They are available in multiple-lamp track configurations, single ceiling mount fixtures, or even in table-top lamps. The main thing is to make sure that you have enough light on the subject. If it turns out that you install lighting and then think you might not have enough, you can always add more fixtures. Most of these fixtures are fairly simple to install by most home owners.

Various GU10 Spot Lighting Fixtures in Track

The only caveat in mounting these lamps is that you don't place them so close to the art that they significantly heat it up. To find out if you have placed your lighting too close to the art, place the back of your hand immediately in front of the illuminated art at its closest point to the lighting. You should NOT be able to perceive any heating of the back of your hand, due to the lamp. If you have the slightest sensation of heating of your hand, either move the art slightly away from the lighting, or move the lighting farther from the art. Generally, a single 50 watt  GU10 type halogen bulb should be no closer than about two feet from the closest point of the art.

Your art is "a terrible thing to waste." Give it the light that it's due. As an optical engineer who I worked with for many years was fond of saying: "You can't violate the 'Maier Principle,' which, in short, states– 'if you ain't got enough photons, you ain't gonna see it!'" 

Revealing the Power of Art With Light (part 1)

Flipping the switch up into the "ON" position, I then stood back a couple of paces and looked upon the art on the wall with renewed appreciation. The colors were now vibrant- almost dazzling. The range of contrast, from the deepest shadows to the bright white clouds was amazing. Subtle nuances as well as the strong statements of the underlying composition were now fully evident and no longer in question. Yes, the light switch is certainly an important component of the proper presentation of a work of art.

Several years ago, I had been invited to show in a unique venue that I had not been to before. The clientele that came to the show was fairly knowledgeable about art, and I was looking forward to not only showing my work there, but probably making some important sales as well. The hall in which I was displaying seemed reasonably well lit, the other artists' booths looked pretty good, and my own presentation of my work was inviting. People seemed to genuinely like my work, but in the end, I made absolutely no sales.

In talking with a friend later (he is a photographer and his wife is a painter) I mentioned that I thought I could probably have made some good sales if only my presentation had been stronger- perhaps with some good lighting. He made me promise then and there that I would put together a good lighting setup before my next show. Of course I found myself scrambling the last three days before that show arrived, to put into effect my new lighting system– I wasn't about to be confronted by my friend when he showed up at the show and asked: "So where's your new lighting system you promised to build?"

When I finally got the system designed, engineered, components purchased, and installed, I lit the lights in my booth (temporarily set up in my front yard) and then began to hang photographs. From the very first piece of art hung, I was asking myself: "Why, in the world, didn't I do this earlier?" Clearly, the art would now be able to speak for itself, and probably sell itself.

Photograph on wall, properly lit with good broadband spot-lighting

I believe that many folks (probably the vast majority) who greatly appreciate and value art works have little appreciation for the value of proper lighting. Someone may spend hundreds or even thousands of dollars on remarkable pieces, only to relegate them to some dark wall in their home where the true value of the work can never come to light. On the one hand, it is, indeed, important to make sure that art is placed well away from where it might encounter the harsh UV light that is a component of natural sunlight. Ultraviolet is a certain destroyer of fine artwork, and can reduce its lifetime from generations to mere years. But on the other hand, simply leaving it alone in the dark is kind of like leaving a bottle of fine, exquisite wine to gather dust in the cellar– wine is MEANT TO BE DRUNK, not just stored– and fine art is MEANT TO BE APPRECIATED, not just protected!

Photograph on wall, illuminated with only existing room lighting

When purchasing fine art, one should invest at least a portion of their art budget in decent lighting. It is simply insane to spend $5000 on a wonderful painting and then light it with a 75 cent, 60 watt standard bulb in a table lamp over in the corner– or even worse, a two-dollar compact fluorescent in the same fixture. This would be kind of like having the President of the United States (substitute your important dignitary of choice) visit you for dinner, then feeding him or her a baloney sandwich, and finally having them wash it down with a glass of Koolaid®.

There are many fine (and relatively inexpensive) options available for lighting artwork which I will explore in a follow-on post. 

Don't let your art languish– let it be luminous! 

The Nature of Light and Colour

Several years ago, a colleague pointed me to a powerful and life impacting resource. I had been working along side Dr. Hector Acosta, a "human factors" professional, on a research project in the area of vision as it related to human performance. Human factors strives to understand and optimize things like ergonomics, performance, and acceptability.

I have always genuinely enjoyed my conversations with Dr. Acosta, and have learned a tremendous amount from him in our professional relationship. Dr. Acosta's doctoral dissertation was centered on another quite interesting research project that I grilled him about mercilessly (and he was always more than happy to oblige!).

His dissertation investigated the interactive physiological and psychological mechanisms that might be responsible for the long-known optical illusion that has been commonly referred to as "the moon illusion." Although an extremely intriguing topic in itself, I won't be going into the moon illusion here (though I might be persuaded to take that up in a future post).

During one of our conversations Hector mentioned a book he had in his library that might be able to answer one of my questions that had come up in our conversation. He turned around and exited our conversation, leaving me hanging there temporarily, and in a few moments returned from his office, holding a book out in his hand. He said: "Here it is! You really ought to read this...you won't regret it!"

I quickly thumbed through the book, noting its frequent and rather archaic/quaint hand drawn illustrations. I couldn't help but comment to him: "Cool! Looks like this thing was written in the '40s or '50s!" He responded that I was quite correct in my assumption, and that the author was a Belgian fellow. I thanked him, took the book home and devoured its 360 or so pages in just a few evenings.

I found the book to be an incredible exposition of very diverse visible atmospheric phenomena, and of profound interest to me as an optical engineer as well as a photographer of nature. The book was written by the Belgian astronomer (both an asteroid and a crater on the moon were named for him), biologist, and keen observer of nature, Marcel Minnaert, in 1954. The volume contains detailed (and yet easily accessible by the laymen) descriptions and explanations of common atmospheric phenomena such as the blueness of the sky, the redness of sunsets, and the colors and shape of rainbows. The explanations are exhaustive (at least when the understanding is completely known by science), yet engaging and readable.

For Minnaert, these common sights in the sky are a mere preamble and appetizer for the main courses. He goes on to describe a whole spectrum of delights to be seen in the earth's sky, and on its surface as well.  He delves into fascinating detail when recounting the common (but rarely appreciated) sight of the "earth's shadow," which can actually be easily seen almost every clear evening immediately after sunset. Minnaert explores hundreds of such visible effects– from the extremely common and ubiquitous, to the fairly unusual, to the extremely rare once-in-a-lifetime sight.

When I went online to buy my own copy several years ago (the early days of Amazon and eBay), I was just about to order a copy I had come across, only to abandon the effort when I reread the description and found that it was the original Dutch language version! I finally located a paperback copy of the English translation (completed in 1954) and purchased it. The more recently reprinted book I found was the easily available "The Nature of Light and Colour In the Open Air," for which I paid about $10. An even more recent reprint, "Light and Color Outdoors," contains color photographs rather than the original drawings, but costs on the order of $100 new.

The book can give the reader a deeper appreciation of and desire to look for many very interesting phenomena that are fairly easy to experience but usually missed by the average person. I have used this book to change the way I look at the world. Previously, when I saw something amazing in the sky or on the earth, I was prompted to observe it keenly and make its memory the fodder of my future creative efforts– strictly a reactive process. Now, I more often than not walk through my day anticipating that I will see something interesting (even specific phenomena), and when I do, I am able to better understand what I am looking at, and maybe even point out the phenomenon to someone else in the vicinity.

Get a hold of this book and let it widen your horizons. 

Photographic Purity– (Beyond B&W: Color)

Black and White photography transitioned to color imaging before most people alive today can personally remember. Bill Watterson, in his Calvin and Hobbes creation (probably the high-water mark of daily cartoon strips), probed this technological shift with an amusing and thought-provoking perspective. Out of respect for Watterson's copyrights I won't provide a direct link here to this particular strip, but you can find it out there if you search for it.

When the ability to capture "true color" images arrived, this new tool was widely seen as nearly miraculous and bringing the viewer ever closer to a "true" recreation of the original scene. This shift from B/W to color was almost (but not quite) as profound as the shift from painted images to photographs had been most of a century earlier. Instead of recording only values (light/dark), this new capacity could acquire the various hues and saturation levels in a scene as well. For nearly the first century of photography, paintings always had the upper hand when it came to coloration– photographs just could not compete in this arena. Now, with color added to the mix, the sky was nearly the limit. In fact, the sky no longer had to suffer the dreary limit of endless stretches of gloomy gray, but could now burst forth with the beauty of its truly blue self.

EARTH AND WATER INTERWOVEN, I, © Bill Brockmeier, all rights reserved

Of course this ability to record the colors apparent in a scene has to be closer to the reality of the original...or does it? It would be instructive here to ask a simple question: "What is color, anyway?" It might come as a surprise to find out that color is not actually a physical parameter, but, in fact, is simply a human perception, a construct of the mind.

While one might say that color is just a matter of the wavelength of the light, this is stripping down the truth of color far too simplistically. There are actual, perceivable colors that don't even exist on the complete spectrum of "all the wavelengths" that are spread out from white light as it passes through a prism. And any specific, perceivable color can actually be created from an infinite number of possible combinations of different other colors. Even more amazing, it is possible for there to be two things that appear exactly the same color under one lighting condition, and yet appear to be dramatically different in color from each other in a different lighting condition (metamerism).

Here is a short list of conditions that can substantially affect the perceived color of an object:

• color of the light illuminating the object
• brightness of the illumination
• color of the object's environment/surroundings
• colors and intensity of light viewed previous to viewing the object
• color characteristics of any transmitting medium between the object and viewer

Most probably know that it is in the retina, the light sensitive back surface of the eye, that color is initiated when photons are preferentially absorbed by the different cone (color) receptors. While this is true, this is only the beginning (the barest beginning) of color perception. This is no simple RGB (red/green/blue) modeling of the light that is intercepted, as in a camera. The neural network of the retina takes this simple color "information" and already begins massaging it and reacting to it, before it sends it on to various locations in the brain, which further process these signals into a whole host of responses and outputs, gaining even emotional and visceral components along the way.

While the truth of color perception is highly complex and cannot be quantified unambiguously, what about the "simple" RGB (trichromatic) model used by photography? It turns out that even if we restrict ourselves to discussing this stripped-down technological version of "colors" it is a complex issue. First, there is the camera that takes the complex mix of light and turns it into an array of values that represent the "original colors." Of course, these values are necessarily compared to some "reference white" (would that be an incandescent lamp? a fluorescent lamp? or maybe natural sunlight...and at what time of day?).

The numerical values that are produced by this method are also limited in various ways. First, there is the sensitivity/detection function of the three separate color channels of the camera (basically, the filter transmission curves of the camera's detectors). Then, there is the dynamic range of the values (lightest to darkest) and the size of the steps from one value to the very next. There is also the issue of color gamut– how much of the totally perceivable color "real estate" can be covered by these numerical representations?

Finally, when these numerical values representing the colors in an image have been determined, how will the image be reproduced so it can be seen? Here, the loop is closed by somehow converting the values back into color representations either emitted by the light of a digital monitor, or by the density of different colored ink droplets on paper media. In both these cases, the representations themselves convolve the dynamic range and color gamut limitations as mentioned previously for the camera. On top of that, there are now even more considerations that effect the final colors– things like color gamma in monitors; and for printed images, dot gain, media brightness and whitepoint, and illumination whitepoint, color rendering index, and brightness. And if that wasn't enough, high-end photographic printers now boast of as many as ten or twelve different ink colors to represent those three original RGB colors. As you can see this is a highly complicated issue, and it is an amazing thing that the whole system works as well as it does.

It's clear that there really is no such thing as photographic "purity" when it comes to color. Attempting the photographic reproduction of the "original colors" of a scene may (or may not) be a worthy goal to strive for, but it is simply not possible today (and really never will be). And that's OK. After all, this is an art, and van Gogh did not mix his colors like Gauguin did.