Bryan Peterson - Understanding Color in Photography: Using Color, Composition, and Exposure to Create Vivid Photos

When I first launched my dream to be a professional photographer back in the early 1970s, I began as most did at that time: by shooting with the less expensive black-and-white films. I had my own darkroom, which meant that I was also processing all of my own black-and-white film and making prints of the best shots.

Six months after I exposed my first black-and-white photograph, I walked into the local camera store in Salem, Oregon, and was delighted to find seven rolls of outdated film sitting in a half-price basket on the countertop. I quickly grabbed all seven rolls, paid the salesperson around fourteen dollars, and headed out the door, gleeful at the money I had saved and in anticipation of a camping trip that weekend, when I would surely shoot all seven rolls.

After my return on Monday, I was visiting my brotherthe one who inspired me to get into photography in the first placeand shared the fun Id had shooting all seven rolls. I laid them out on his kitchen counter, asking whether I needed to take any extra steps to process the outdated film. He looked at them and quickly said, You cant process any of these rolls because theyre not black and white. This is color slide film! I was stunned. As far as I was concerned, a slideshow was the last thing I wanted to make. I was sure the compositions from the camping trip had been my best work yet, but now they would never be the amazing black-and-white images I had hoped to print. Seeing my crestfallen face, my brother pointed out that it was possible to have prints made from color slidesit was just expensive and time-consuming. The wait could be up to one week and I, at the young age of eighteen, had yet to master the art of patience.

Days passed before my frustration subsided enough to return to the camera store with the seven rolls of Agfachrome 50 film. And several days later, I returned to pick up my slides after a long days work as a maintenance man for the City of Salem. What happened next was truly a defining moment in my then-young photographic career. As I placed each slide across the camera stores light table, I was confronted with some truly remarkable color-filled compositions. The fields of wildflowers and the blue sky with white puffy clouds seemed to leap off the light table. A plate of sliced cucumbers and tomatoes (one of my meals on the camping trip) screamed with the vividness of complementary colors. It was transformative; I was awash in the tremendous power of color. Within minutes, I asked the camera-store owner if he had any more outdated filmif he did, I would take every last roll.

Unfortunately, he had no more, but he did offer an attractive discount if I would buy ten rolls at once, and an even better one if I would buy twenty (called a brick of film). Little did I know just how many bricks I would buy over the next thirty-plus years. My love for color photography had begun.

Soon after, I picked up an orange filter at the camera store and started using it to photograph sunsets and sunrises. And later, while fumbling through a cardboard box on the countertop of that same camera store, I discovered a deeply colored magenta filter and a deep blue filter. Although I never found much use for the blue filter, I had no trouble beginning my love affair with the magenta filter. It was remarkably useful when shooting during the predawn and twilight blue hour, when the sun is below the horizon and the sky takes on a predominantly blue hue, as well as for shooting cityscapes and landscapes.

I didnt realize it at the time, but choosing to shoot color slides forced me to work harder at getting everything done in-camera. When shooting black and white, I often did both dodging and burning in the darkroom, not to mention judicious cropping. But color slides had severe limitations. It wasnt possible to process the film myself, so the daily pressurethe challengewas not only to use the best possible light and get the exposure right in camera, but also to determine the most effective composition. It was critical to pay attention not only to lens choice, but also point of view. I soon became an expert on time of day, light, seasons, weather, and how to manipulate my exposure to generate the most appropriate and/or the most vivid colors. I learned about the power of red and why I preferred to shoot red on overcast days. I learned to never shoot portraits or nudes when front-lit or side-lit by low-angled (and very warm) sunlightunless I wanted to deal with lobster-red skin tones. And I learned how to create pastel tones, diluting colors into something lighter, softer, more ethereal, by simply overexposing by one to three stops.

Motor oil stains in a wet parking lot offer a kaleidoscope of color. No doubt youve seen such oil stains on rainy mornings before and never thought of stopping to take a photograph. Perhaps now you will?

Nikon D7200, Nikkor 18300mm lens, f/16 for 1/100 sec., ISO 800

Thinking in color meant looking at weather reports more judiciously, anxious to learn of clear skies or excited to learn that a storm would be breaking up right at sunset. I began to embrace the expression, Red sky at night, sailors delight, which promises clear skies in the morning, as well as its complement, Red sky in the morn, sailors be warned, which predicts rain on the way. Cloudy days lured me to the woods, forests, and jungles, where the softer light made exposures of the muted tones of green so much easier. Rainy, wet city streets were now irresistible reflectors of neon lights and the headlights and taillights of moving traffic.