#photography assignments

[starrspice]

Now that the semester is over I wanted to share some of the photos I took during my photographic concepts course! (Oldest to newest)

I'm pretty pleased with my progress and honestly, I'm kind of shocked how much I enjoyed this class

[sonyaromina]

The Best Photography Assignment Book Every Photographer Needs

"The Photographer’s Playbook" is a compilation of 307 assignments and ideas from over 40 contributors, including renowned photographers, educators, and artists.

When starting photography, there’s so many new things to learn about and yet you need o have a real interest in learning them. With all the information out there, overwhelm is quite common, all while trying to find your unique style. And because learning the technicalities is just one part of photography, learning to visualize what it is you see around you, is essentially as important. You can…

[buglaur]

simself because i made a tank top

[maximura]

Park Seonghwa for Isabel Marant

[zimt-deathnote]

No suggestion here’s your excuse to post smthn you wanna show no explanations required 💜

Wanna show off some photos of my reference rosary I took recently!! I even got a friend to pose for me 😭🖤

[agent-jaselin]

@martimweek2025 day 4, Voyeurism. I was going to do dancing but than I was beset by visions. Also not sure this is actually a 3 inch difference represented oh well.

[sleepanonymous]

Been waiting a few days but I haven't seen this photo of Sam surface yet, so. Behold. Sam the Drum Tech.

[racoonstudies]

9-01-2025

The sensitive suffer more; but they love more, and dream more.

🎧: Yellow by Coldplay 💛

[olath124]

22nd September 2072

I'm not the person who's watching from the mirror in front of me.

Her elegant black lace dress is not mine.

Nor the high heels.

Nor the pearl necklace around her neck.

Nor the polished and elegant hairstyle.

She's not me, but a mask, carefully crafted by you:

“Almost…” Your voice sounds pensive, the French accent that softens your words, as you zip up the back of the dress. “Perfect.”

Even the room we're in has nothing of myself in it.

The blue spatulated stucco walls are your choice, as are the piles of old books, the old canopy bed where I sleep, and the vertical piano I play every dawn as you drift to sleep.

Even the paintings that should represent my image are only myself as you see me.

The warm grip of your hands on my shoulders, as you pull them back to straighten my posture, brings me back into the moment.

And as I meet your golden eyes in the mirror, there's nothing but love and a kind smile in them:

“Violet, smile, mon coeur.” A suffocatingly sweet undertone in your voice, as you fix a lock of my turquoise hair behind my ear. “Where we are going everyone, other than me and you, is an enemy.” Your warm breath on my skin. “Everyone will try to see through your cracks, and use your weaknesses against us, mon coeur…” Your hands, sliding over my shoulders and arms in a warm caress. “But you are ready. We've been working on you for the last four years.” 

Four years of an almost symbiotic life.

Four years of you correcting every step I take.

Every word I say.

Every smallest detail of my face. 

You lean closer, the scathing touch of your one-day beard against the smoothness of my skin:

“Give them nothing, mon coeur, nothing other than a polite and cheerful smile.”

And I smile for you, as you want me to.

Cheerful. Kind. 

Innocent. 

As you taught me to. 

Because you took me when I was in the darkest moment of my life and made something out of the nothing I was. 

And you loved me and told me I was perfect, only to change every single part of me that wasn't perfect enough. 

Until now I am. 

“My perfect Violet.” You take a few steps back and lean your open hand for me to take, with a courteous gesture. “My perfect birthday gift to my oldest friend… shall we?”

And I nod, still with my cheerful smile on.

Because I would do anything not to disappoint you.

Dogtown stench hits me like a fist as you open the car’s door for me. 

Burning plastic, old sweat, and desperation.

But it's not worse than the stench of Arroyo, where we grew up together. It's not worse than everything you've put me through to teach me to keep my facade on despite every kind of pain. 

So I keep the smile on my face as I lay the points of my fingers on your open hand. Desperate people on every corner, begging for a crumble of hope, soldiers with no way out other than excerpt violence on every target their leader decides.

You show me everything as we walk toward the wrecked hotel.

Because I would be exactly in their same situation without you. 

Because with you I have a better life. 

With you, I have hope and a shining future ahead of me, unlike all of them.

And you repeat your words in the privacy of the elevator that takes us to the last floor of the black and gold hotel that towers over the neighborhood: 

“Smile, mon coeur.” Like the other thousand times you've said them. “Where we are going everyone, other than me and you, is an enemy.” Like a song, stuck on repeat in my head. “Everyone will try to see through your cracks, and use your weaknesses against us, mon coeur…” Like a prayer, a mantra, a ritual I can tune myself into. “Give them nothing, mon coeur, nothing other than a polite and cheerful smile.”

And I smile as the elevator doors open. 

I smile as you lead me gently through the terrace and down the stairs of the lavishly decorated ballroom. 

I smile through the clink of champagne glasses, the gazes of the other guests, and a thousand other empty smiles.

I smile, as you stop in front of a black leather couch where a man around your age is sitting, talking and laughing with a calm confidence that feels like yours.

You raise your head in a polite gesture, he notices you, excusing himself and standing up to reach you:

“Elroy! My friend.” He speaks with a boastful tone, well fitted with his militaristic clothes. “Welcome back to my jewel, finally.” He hugs you with a firm pat on the shoulder, and you reciprocate:

“Kurt, my friend! Happy birthday!” Your American accent sounds weirdly out of place in your voice, but you taught me to smile through that too.

The man you named Kurt turns to watch me and says: 

“What do you have here?”

You smile, as you place your hands over my shoulders, pushing me a little forward: 

“Don't you recognize her, my friend?” You lean your head over me. “To think that you've asked me to find her a thousand times…”

His expression turns into a mask of devastated surprise:

“Silly duckling…” His voice suddenly weaker. “Violet.”

He grabs me in an unexpected, rough embrace.

Too tight and uncomfortable but I smile through that too, raising my hands to tighten them on the black simple t-shirt.

As you taught me to.

But there's a reassuring feeling about this man, despite him being a warlord, a despot of this small wasteland. The smell of tobacco, alcohol, and cologne covers something familiar.

Something that calms my racing thoughts and gives me peace.

Something that feels like home. 

“I thought you were dead.” He says, pushing me back to look me in the eyes. 

“She's very well alive.” You answer, placing a hand on my shoulder. “And grown into a strong, powerful mercenary while you left.”

“Wonderful! We might have a place for you in my little enterprise, silly duckling.” He gives a noogie on my cheek. Something else that feels familiar.

I smile and open my mouth to answer, but you cut me out: 

“We need to talk business, Kurt.” Turning to me with your softest smile. “Would you wait a moment, Violet? We need to talk in private.”

You don't wait for my answer. You know it won't be anything other than a “yes”. So you turn to the man in front of us and start talking, as I step back, walking to one of the terraces of this luminous and spacious ballroom, smiling and giving polite signs of recognition to everyone who meets my eyes. 

As you instructed me to.

The stench of the city is distant from the 99th floor of the Black Sapphire and the way the cold breeze touches my skin is refreshing. 

A glance. 

Nobody's around.

I can breathe and let go. 

The hurtful smile disappears, as my fingers stumble to open my black clutch bag and take a cigarette out of it. The purse falls to the ground and I pick it up with a muffled “Fuck…”, only to throw it on a lounge couch as soon as I've retrieved my lighter. 

One, two, three strokes of my fingers, but the lighter doesn't ignite, and the disheartened sigh that escapes my mouth is as clear as day.

But nobody's around. 

So it doesn't matter.

“You seem nervous, sour face.” The sudden flame that lights my cigarette is a surprise.

“I… I'm not nervous.” Back to smiling, back to the safety of the mask. 

“You dropped your purse, your hands trembled so much you couldn't light your cigarette and your face seems like you're going to be decapitated in a few minutes. This…” The woman moves her open hand in a circle over me. “Doesn't look calm and happy.”

I narrow my eyes on her, her blonde hair barely reaches her chin and her smile seems natural and welcoming. The black and elegant suit doesn't hide her muscular frame:

“Fancy parties… Am I right?”

“Don't tell me, sour face…” She takes out a cigarette from a pocket, lights it, and takes a long smoke. “So… do you want to tell me your name? Or would you rather me just call you sour face?”

Her words bring out a chuckle to my lips:

“Violet, you can call me however you want, though.”

“Violet…” My name sounds like music in your words. “I'm Dasha.”

And I smile.

Not as you taught me to, but with a real smile, that reaches my eyes:

“Dasha…”

“Here it is…” She leans on the handrail, resting her chin on her hand. “Am I the one who took the sourness away from your sour face?”

“You…” I cover my eyes with two fingers, laughing. “You are definitely something else…”

22nd September 2076

You were something else. 

Something special. 

Something precious.

You were the love of my life.

But they took you away from me.

And as Elroy whispers his usual mantra in my ear, I only think about you.

And how I will not rest until I’ve found the one who did this to you and made them go through the exact pain I've experienced losing you. 

“Smile, mon coeur.” No matter how many stupid Elroy's parties I'll have to endure. “Where we are going everyone, other than me and you, is an enemy.” No matter how many fake smiles I'll have to wear. “Everyone will try to see through your cracks, and use your weaknesses against us, mon coeur…” No matter how many lies, fights, and killings I'll have to do. “Give them nothing, mon coeur, nothing other than a polite and cheerful smile.”

I will not rest until I've found them.

Dasha, my Dasha.

Love of my life. 

I don't care about what happens in the process.

I don't care if I die in the process. 

I will avenge you.

[weissehyazinthe]

Will start posting my photographs here as well

[puparomi]

fella adventures

[wanderingmind867]

My opinions on school are always nuanced. Although i really do like school (mostly because i've been going there since i was at least five!), sometimes it can still be stressful. When a unit in class gets rough, sometimes i'll even hope that i won't have to go to school the next day. But now it's looking like my school bus might be cancelled due to bad weather, and it's making me feel upset.

Because school is the only place where I know how to read my physical books. Without high school, I don't know how i'll ever read again. That's a real stress point for me. Because school is something important to me, since i've been going there for most of my life. And to now learn that i have to leave this year...well, it's a big mess. I don't love dealing with all of this..

[minsu-the-cowardly-human]

Did this for Photography of Kaju Twoey taking over the world!! >:DD

[eebie]

CHATGPT…. RECIPES ….?

[solplease]

if you see me here today, im not supposed to be here. pls yell at me to go back to studying if i come here </3

[kamon-115]

Shooting The Truth: Can Art be Mechanically Reproduced?

By: Jayden Henderson, Hazel Angela Abiog, Ralph Danrique Aquino

Solace Road- Photo by Jayden Henderson

The quiet still of a teen beside a parked car on a country road carries a strong sense of place—its "aura," in Benjamin's terms. You can almost feel the late‑afternoon sun, hear the gravel underfoot, smell the dry grass in the breeze. That aura is captured in its original print in this single moment. Yet once digitized and shared online��cropped, filtered, re‑posted on Instagram or TikTok—it becomes one image among millions. Its unique presence is diluted, but its personal story spreads to a broader audience. Here, Benjamin's paradox is apparent: mechanical (now digital) reproduction diminishes aura, but simultaneously bestows new social life on the photograph, inviting strangers everywhere to participate in that teen's quiet pause.

Lone Plaza- Photo by Jayden Henderson

An empty plaza, its benches and fountain surrounded by bare branches, feels like a relic of public life paused in time. In its original print, framed carefully, this stillness is tethered to that spot and those specific trees. However, once published in a book or blog, it becomes a hinge between private contemplation and mass experience. Benjamin would celebrate this shift: as art's reproducibility expands, the work slips out of exclusive gallery spaces into communal memory. Any passer‑by online can "visit" the plaza, forging new social bonds through shared images of absence and anticipation.

In Transit- Photo by Jayden Henderson

The photograph vividly captures the stillness of time, showing commuters, the train interior, and platform signs through a glass pane. It powerfully demonstrates how light can fracture and reassemble reality. The past and present, inside and outside, seamlessly blur into a striking montage. Benjamin would undoubtedly recognize this image as proof that reproduction does more than copy; it transforms our understanding of reality. By integrating multiple frames, exposures and spatial perspectives into a single frame, the image compels us to rethink perception itself. While its aura may be fragmented, it reveals a new social goal: capturing the intricate complexity of our urban experience.

The Cities Flow- Photo by Jayden Henderson (Entry by Hazel Angela Abiog)

This photograph connects to Walter Benjamin's article by illustrating how art and photography have become modern. Benjamin argued that mechanical reproduction removes the "aura," making them more accessible but less unique. City life, tall buildings, and walking people are not rare but repeatable. But that's the point: turning everyday life into something worth capturing and sharing with the world.

Grace in Silence- Photo by Hazel Angela Abiog

This picture reflects Robinson's style through several key elements. First, the use of Pictorial Quality is evident in the use of black and white, to show the aesthetic of early photographic images. Second is the Mood and Expression. The figure, downward gaze, and flowy dress suggest a quiet, thoughtful, or even a sad feeling that is similar to the images that Robinson often showed in his work. Third, Stage Composition stands out with the curved staircase, and the person placement creates a dramatic visual, like Robinson's carefully arranged images. Overall, this image shares the intentionality and emotional tonality of Robinson's photography.

Out of the Dark- Photo by Ralph Danrique Aquino

Robinson's craft of photography aimed to create a work of art, a painting, that highlights the storytelling and emotions, detailing reality. In this image, it creates a dramatic scene composing: a single figure surrounded by natural, emphasizing the dry and melancholic environment. The dark, moody atmosphere creates a sense of symbolism, much like Robinson's romantic and depressing themes. Moreover, the railroad tracks suggest a personal and emotional journey, conveying loss and grief in relation to Robinson's "Fading Away".

Module 3 Questions:

1. When something is reproduced countless times, is it still "art"? What is the importance of mechanical reproducibility, and how has it impacted society?

Reproducing an artwork over and over transforms it but doesn't render it meaningless. According to Walter Benjamin, every original piece possesses an "aura," born of its unique time, place, and history. Mechanical reproduction inevitably diminishes that aura, yet it also increases access. No longer confined to museum walls or private collections, art spreads into classrooms, living rooms, and public squares. This mass circulation shifts art from an elite privilege into a shared cultural resource, enriching public discourse and allowing diverse communities to engage with works they'd never encountered.

2. What is the central message of Walter Benjamin's essay "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction"?

Benjamin's core Message is that mechanical reproduction disrupts the bond between an artwork and its "aura". By stripping away the "here and now" of the original, reproduction dissolves its aura, but in doing so, it empowers art to serve new social functions. Benjamin invites us to see reproduction not simply as loss, but also as transformation.

3. Is photography an art form in its own right, or merely a tool for traditional artists?

Photography began as a technical process for capturing reality but has long since become a standalone art form. When photographers bring a distinct vision—through composition, lighting, framing, etc.- to their work, they move beyond mere documentation. A photograph can tell stories, convey moods, and provoke reflection as powerfully as a painting or sculpture.

4. How and why did Henry Peach Robinson create Fading Away?

Robinson pioneered combination printing to stage the emotionally charged scene, Fading Away. By merging several negatives—each depicting different figures and settings—he choreographed a Victorian tableau of a young woman's last moments surrounded by mourning family. His goal was not scientific accuracy but dramatic storytelling: to show that photography could evoke pathos and narrative depth, rivalling the grand history paintings of the era.

5. If mechanical reproduction revolutionized art in the 20th century, what does today's digitalization mean for its future?

We've entered a new era where anyone with a smartphone can create, edit, and instantly share images on platforms like Instagram and TikTok. Digital tools dissolve barriers even further, raising new questions of authenticity. Who is the artist when an AI generates an image from a prompt or combines existing works? As we embrace these innovations, it's worth asking: What are we gaining in creative possibility, and what might we be losing in human touch and historical context?

References

•Benjamin, W. (1936). The work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction. Marxists Internet Archive. Retrieved May 16, 2025, from https://www.marxists.org/reference/subject/philosophy/works/ge/benjamin.htm

•The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. (n.d.). Henry Peach Robinson. In Encyclopaedia Britannica. Retrieved May 16, 2025, from https://www.britannica.com/biography/Henry-Peach-Robinson

•OpenAI. (2025). ChatGPT (o4‑mini) [Large language model]. https://openai.com/chatgpt