What (or indeed who) springs to mind if I say “tantric sex”? (No sniggering at the back there...) For most people of a certain age, in the UK at least, it is Sting and Trudie Styler. Sting was once famously quoted as saying that the couple enjoyed hours of tantric lovemaking. An image was conjured up of Mr and Mrs Sumner lying intimately entwined in a protracted state of ecstacy, each on the brink of a wardrobe-trembling climax, holding the same position for ages in order to prolong the moment until, when it – and they – came, it provided the ultimate high. This slightly disturbing image was shattered forever years later when in another interview, Sting confessed that the hours of tantric sex alluded to actually encompassed going to a movie, followed by a decent dinner and a bit of begging on his part.
Seldom has an illusion been cruelly and totally shattered; women the world over sighed and resigned themselves to forever muttering “No, its alright, you tried, you couldn't help it” and men smirked in the confirmation that their sexual stamina was not going to be compared unfavourably any more to that of the great Mr Sumner.
Which of course brings us, as you knew it would, to the world of photography. Since the dawning of the Age of Digital (AD) photographers have become hopelessly addicted to the siren lure of instant gratification. In the past, the only way to hold the image in your hand shortly after exposure was to invest in a Polaroid camera, film or back. The slightly ridiculous looking act of shaking the print worked the necessary chemical magic and in moments you could find yourself holding the end result. Of course the great advantage of the instant camera was cutting out the middleman – the processor – and hence keeping your sordid little snaps to yourself. It was said that Edwin Land, the inventor of the Polaroid camera refused to include a self-timer in any of his products in order to dissuade their use for immoral purposes.
Whatever.
The reality was that Polaroids were a niche product, and it wasn't until digital image capture really took off that instant photography came into its element. Suddenly you could take a photo of granny and show her the immediate result (bifocals permitting). Suddenly you could fire off a snap of kids in the street (PCSOs permitting) and show them the immediate result, to their delight (assuming they didn't try to up their ASBO count by stealing your camera). Above all, suddenly you could take a photo and see for yourself if it was blurred, poorly exposed, or just plain crap.
Enter the “chimp”.
I don't know who first coined the phrase, but they had clearly spent time observing both apes and humans; perhaps on the same zoo trip. “Chimping” perfectly describes the act of snap-check-snap-check-snap-check that the inexperienced or insecure indulge in. Some risk repetitive strain injuries as they whip their heads up and down. No thought is given to the very real risk of missing what is going on now while checking what has happened in the immediate past. Chimpers, in effect, spend more time living in the past than capturing the present. The hunt-peck, hunt-peck action is actually reminiscent of an inexperienced typist – maybe the eponymous chimp was one of those employed to knock out the works of Shakespeare...
Back to the plot. The problem with instant gratification, as is well known by anyone who has succumbed to the lure of a bag of sweets, is that a moment of pleasure is followed by an anticlimax. The moment has passed, and the only way to recapture it, to get that high again is to have another
and another...
and another.
Before you know it you feel both mildly nauseous and forever dissatisfied. Instant gratification has devalued the experience for you, reduced it to a ho-hum norm. You are engorged and unhappy, and worst of all, a suspiciously porky looking Jamie Oliver is contemplating visiting you to make an infotainment programme pour encourager les autres.
As with bags of sweets, so with digital photographers. Just before the mighty SD card swept all before it, the high-street processors battling for your business were offering ever shorter turnarounds on your prints of little Tarquin and Tasmin. Modern machinery such as the Fuji Frontier series reduced an already rapid one hour service to 30 minutes, then 20 and in some cases 15. I don't know about you, but I struggle to drink a cup of tea in 15 minutes let alone dip, dunk, develop, print and cut to CD. At one point you could walk into some branches of Sainsburys, drop your films at the dry cleaners just inside the door and receive a text to tell you your snaps were ready before you had even got past the cake ingredients – well, certainly long before you got to the wines and spirits.
Queen once released a song called I Want It Now. This elegant bit of pomp-rock could have been penned as the theme tune to today's cash-rich, time-poor, need it yesterday consumers. The entire concept of patience being a virtue has been devalued to the point of parity with the Zimbabwean Pound.
The nearest I get to phallic symbolism...
And therein lies my point. In sales, there is a concept rather unpleasantly but graphically referred to as “the whores dilemma”. In simple terms this states that there is no point in asking for the money after the product or service has been provided; the act of provision has in effect reduced if not eliminated your customer's willingness to pay for something that is already in their possession. The immediate availability of the image on the back of the digital camera reduces both the enjoyment of “rediscovery” hours or days after the event and the likelihood of the image ever being printed at all. At best it may be shared with “m8s” on Facebook, at worst it is consigned to a computer hard-drive or never taken off the card at all. The print, on the other hand can be displayed, passed around, touched, felt, put in a drawer, forgotten then rediscovered months or years later. It can be written upon, front or back, or stained with tears of sorrow or joy. It exists, therefore it is.
Call me old-fashioned (it wouldn't be the first time) but the instant nature of digital photography has impoverished the photographic experience. Tantric photography is as much about the journey as the destination; tantalising expectation is part of that journey. Sometimes it is truly better to travel than to arrive.
And sometimes you should seek to prolong, not just preserve, the decisive moment. Try it – think Tantric. But please don't stand so close to me...
- All images on this blog are copyright Bill Palmer and may not be reproduced in any format or medium without permission.
