I’ve been asking Claude 3.5 to describe photos since December 6, 2024. It’s an exercise. I’m not looking for anything in particular. I just what to see how Claude describes a photo and where the conversations goes. Describing images can be easy, but it can also be tricky difficult. It depends on the nature of the image and what one attempts in the description. Often Claude will end their statement with a question or two. Sometimes I’ll take them up, but sometimes I’ll go in a different direction. It depends.
On the whole, it’s an interesting task, without being terribly demanding. Some conversations are more interesting than others. Some turn out to be very interesting, e.g. Claude 3.5 describes an iris on the street, and then we go off into the urban pastoral, or Claude 3.5 Describes a Big Mac (and then gets lost in the weeds, does it ever! Sheesh!). Until now, I’ve started all conversations with a single photo, but in a few cases I’ve added a photo into the conversations as things moved along, such as that urban pastoral conversation or, more recently, Claude 3.5 Sonata describes a sunrise photo of some weeds, and then we talk. This time I decided to start with two photos.
The idea is to present two very different photos along with a question: In what way are these two photos the same? I had a specific answer in mind: They are what I call minimal photographs, a concept which I define in the course of the conversation. Would Claude figure it out without my help?
It turns out that Claude didn’t do that, which is neither here nor there. I just wanted to find out. I wouldn’t necessarily expected a human interlocutor to come up with that answer either. Some might. There was, after all, an art movement known as “Minimalism.” But I wouldn’t expect everyone to know that.
In any event, the conversation turned out to be quite interesting. Claude told me a thing or three about those photos that I hadn’t noticed. They’re a pretty good art critic.
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I want you to describe each of these photos and tell me what they have in common. Why would someone think they are, in some way, the same kind of photo?
These two images are similar in that they both capture an obscured or diffused view of the sun, creating moody, atmospheric compositions.
In Image 1, we see ships silhouetted on the horizon against what appears to be a hazy, golden-brown sky. The sun's light is severely muted by what could be fog, smoke, or atmospheric pollution, creating an eerie, monochromatic seascape.
In Image 2, we see bare tree branches silhouetted against a bright, diffused circle of light - presumably the sun - behind a gray, overcast sky. The intricate pattern of the branches creates a stark contrast against the glowing orb behind them.
What these photos have in common is their artistic approach to capturing an obscured sun. In both cases, the sun is present but veiled - in the first by atmospheric conditions creating a sepia tone, and in the second by cloud cover creating a gray palette. Both photos use silhouettes (ships in one, tree branches in the other) to create contrast against the muted light source.
Both images also evoke a similar mood - there's something slightly melancholic or mysterious about them. They demonstrate how atmospheric conditions can transform the usually bright, clear sun into something more subdued and ethereal. Both photographers have chosen to capture moments where nature has created a natural filter over the sun, allowing us to see its presence in an unusual way.
Interesting. I took the “sepia” one at sunrise on a misty day. I was looking north on the Hudson River. The sun would have been to my right and so not in the field of view, if it could be seen at all through the fog (I don’t remember). I took the other one at mid-day out in the suburbs, and of course I was looking directly at the sun, as I sometimes like to do. And you’re right about the mood.
Ah, I apologize for my misinterpretation of the first image! That's fascinating - what I interpreted as a sun diffused by haze was actually just the natural coloring of dense river fog illuminated by the morning light. Thank you for the correction and context.
This actually makes the images even more interesting as a pair, because they show two very different ways that atmospheric conditions can create similar visual effects. In the Hudson River shot, the fog itself becomes luminous, creating that golden-brown color field that fills the frame, with just enough visibility to make out the ship silhouettes. In the suburban shot, it's the cloud cover that transforms the harsh midday sun into that softer glowing orb.
I'm curious - as someone who likes to photograph the sun directly (which can be quite challenging), what draws you to that kind of shot? There's something particularly striking about how the bare branches frame and segment the diffused light in that second image.
Also, I imagine the actual experience of taking these two photos felt very different - one in the early morning quiet by the river, and the other looking up at a bright midday sky. Yet they both captured similarly contemplative moods in the final images.
On the second issue, shooting into the sun, what draws me to the shot is, at least in part, the challenge. The bright light floods the sensor so that I have to do a bit if finagling to draw out an image in processing. And, yes, in that particular kind of shot I like the way the clouds diffuse the light.
There’s another thing the two photos have in common. You’ve almost got it. It’s not so much about the mood – which is a side effect – but a more intellectual, if you will, and in a sense technical issue. Care to take another try?
Ah, now I think I see what you're getting at - both photos are fundamentally about light itself and how it behaves in different atmospheric conditions.
In both cases, what you're really photographing is the interaction between light and particles in the air - water droplets in the river fog, and water droplets/ice crystals in the clouds. These particles scatter and diffuse the light in ways that transform it from the sharp, direct illumination we typically think of into something more distributed and visible as a phenomenon in itself.
In the river photo, the fog is acting as a medium that makes the light visible as it fills the space - we're not seeing the sun directly, but rather seeing how its light is being scattered through the water particles in the air. Similarly, in the tree branch photo, we're seeing how the clouds scatter and diffuse the direct sunlight into that soft, luminous disk.
So while they appear quite different at first glance, both images are really studies in how light becomes visible when it interacts with atmospheric water in different forms. Is that more along the lines of what you were thinking about?
Ah, I wasn’t thinking in those terms. But you’re certainly right to bring it up. I’ve always thought of photography as being about light, light and space. How do I render the space visible, as it were, palpable.
But here’s what I’m fishing for, the idea of a minimal photograph. What do you have to have in the image space in order to have a photograph? If you just photograph a blank wall, you’ve got nothing. But if there’s a crack in the wall, how much of a crack does there have to be in order to make a worthwhile photo? In the case of the sunrise photo, I’ve got two small ships on the water, and the water itself. Not much. In comparison, those suburban branches and the sun are luxurious, but still, minimal.
Ah yes! Now I understand - you're exploring the minimal elements needed to create a meaningful photographic composition. This is a fascinating aesthetic and philosophical question about photography.
In both images, you're working with just enough elements to create spatial relationships and visual tension. In the river photo, those tiny ship silhouettes are crucial - without them, you'd just have undifferentiated fog. But their presence, minimal as it is, immediately creates depth, scale, and relationship. They give the eye something to find and orient around in that ethereal space.
Similarly, in the branch photo, while there's more detail in the branching patterns, you're still working with a very reduced vocabulary - just the silhouetted branches against the diffused light. It's still an exercise in minimalism, in finding out how little you need to create visual interest and dimension.
This reminds me of the aesthetic principle in Japanese art of ma (間) - the idea that empty space is not truly empty but is activated by the minimal elements that define it. In your photos, the vast "empty" areas (the foggy expanse, the luminous sky) become meaningful spaces precisely because of their relationship with the minimal elements you've included.
Would you say you consciously seek out these kinds of minimal compositions, or do you find they emerge naturally from your interest in light and space?
I love it, ma. I’ve been strongly influenced by Japanese art. On your last question, for me they’re really pretty much the same issue. When I wake up to a foggy day I get the camera because I know I’m going to get to explore minimal compositions. In the case of those suburban branches, I was interested in photographing tree and branches and decided to see how far I could take it into minimalism.
Your approach really resonates with how Japanese aesthetics can inform photography. The fog becomes like empty space in a sumi-e painting, where a few brushstrokes suggest an entire landscape. The ships in your river photo are like those minimal marks that give meaning to the void - just enough to activate the space, as we discussed.
The branch photo is particularly interesting in this context because you've taken something that could be quite busy - a tree's branching pattern - and by shooting it against the diffused sun, you've transformed it into something more essential. The backlighting turns the branches into pure line and form, almost like calligraphy against paper.
It's fascinating how technical choices serve aesthetic purposes here. The fog naturally creates minimalism by obscuring detail, while shooting into the sun with clouds forces a reduction to silhouette and glow. In both cases, the technical constraints help strip away the inessential to reveal these more fundamental compositions.
You've made me think differently about foggy days now. Instead of seeing them as photographically limiting, they're actually opportunities to explore this kind of reductive visual poetry.
Exactly.
Your response affirms a core principle in photography - that what might seem like limitations (fog, harsh backlighting) can actually be creative opportunities when approached with the right mindset. These "challenging" conditions naturally strip away visual clutter and push us toward more essential compositions.
It's interesting to think about how different photographic traditions have embraced this kind of reduction. While we talked about Japanese aesthetics, there's also resonance with early modernist photography - someone like Edward Weston finding the fundamental forms in natural objects, or Minor White exploring how atmospheric conditions could transform familiar scenes into something more abstract.
Would you say that working in this minimal way has influenced how you see and photograph in other, less naturally minimal conditions?
Who knows. Maybe. Gotta’ go. It’s been interesting. ‘Till later.
Thanks for the engaging discussion about photographic minimalism, light, and Japanese aesthetics. Really enjoyed exploring these ideas through your images. Take care!
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