When Adam Goldberg lived in Paris in 2007, the food blogger puzzled his fellow restaurant patrons whenever he whipped out his bulky SLR camera to document a dish. Seven years later, though, the prospect of a diner photographing their meal is commonplace. Even foodies with nothing more than a smartphone and negligible skills are crafting images every bit as gorgeous as Goldberg's best Parisian work. By applying a VSCO Cam filter to an iPhone 5s shot, anyone can make a greasy-spoon burger look fit for the pages of Bon Appétit. The sauces glisten, the meats ripple with texture, the vegetables radiate exotic hues. “Now, because of the iPhone and some of the editing tools that are available, everybody is a professional,” he says.
Today, Goldberg himself uses an iPhone to chronicle his dining exploits on Instagram, and millions of his fellow gourmands are doing likewise. Among the basic human needs, after all, food is the one that's most ideal for sharing on social media: It's more wholesome than sex, more titillating than shelter, and quite a bit more photogenic than water. Because passion for food is so universal, posting photos of it—your towering burgers, your buttery pastas—is a surefire way to establish an emotional connection with followers. “Everyone eats, and everyone knows what it's like to consume something that really hits the spot,” says Patrick Janelle, a creative director whose Instagram account has 150,000 followers. Indeed, the mere sight of food conjures up memories of the rituals that surround its consumption. On Instagram, an omelet is not just an omelet; it's also an invitation to reminisce about all the leisurely Sunday brunches you've ever enjoyed. An image of scrumptious food is like the beginning of a story, and each viewer fills in the rest with their own experiences, their own meaning.
As social-media feeds have become deluged with photos of banh mi and burritos, ambitious Instagrammers have started to differentiate themselves from the masses by focusing on technique. Amateurs who were once content to merely press the shutter now ponder details such as camera angle and lighting in an effort to produce work that has a polished quality. To cater to these increasingly serious hobbyists, there are classes at various Whole Foods stores that promise to train newbies in the secrets of iPhone food photography.
That amateur deluge has put pressure on elite food photographers to do more with their shots. Now that it's so easy to make a humble sandwich look like manna from heaven, the best food photographers are taking a turn for the avant-garde, producing pictures that inspire their viewers to meditate as well as salivate. “Food photography has evolved to being more than just capturing the perfect-looking dish,” says Joann Pai, a Vancouver photographer whose thoughtfully composed Instagram posts of pastries and tapas echo the still lifes of Paul Cézanne. “It's becoming more about creating a scene that evokes feelings around food.” In other words, food photography is going through the same transition that art forms like painting and music experienced when competence becomes ubiquitous; the true artists respond by breaking with conventions that have become stifling.
Today, Goldberg himself uses an iPhone to chronicle his dining exploits on Instagram, and millions of his fellow gourmands are doing likewise. Among the basic human needs, after all, food is the one that's most ideal for sharing on social media: It's more wholesome than sex, more titillating than shelter, and quite a bit more photogenic than water. Because passion for food is so universal, posting photos of it—your towering burgers, your buttery pastas—is a surefire way to establish an emotional connection with followers. “Everyone eats, and everyone knows what it's like to consume something that really hits the spot,” says Patrick Janelle, a creative director whose Instagram account has 150,000 followers. Indeed, the mere sight of food conjures up memories of the rituals that surround its consumption. On Instagram, an omelet is not just an omelet; it's also an invitation to reminisce about all the leisurely Sunday brunches you've ever enjoyed. An image of scrumptious food is like the beginning of a story, and each viewer fills in the rest with their own experiences, their own meaning.
As social-media feeds have become deluged with photos of banh mi and burritos, ambitious Instagrammers have started to differentiate themselves from the masses by focusing on technique. Amateurs who were once content to merely press the shutter now ponder details such as camera angle and lighting in an effort to produce work that has a polished quality. To cater to these increasingly serious hobbyists, there are classes at various Whole Foods stores that promise to train newbies in the secrets of iPhone food photography.
That amateur deluge has put pressure on elite food photographers to do more with their shots. Now that it's so easy to make a humble sandwich look like manna from heaven, the best food photographers are taking a turn for the avant-garde, producing pictures that inspire their viewers to meditate as well as salivate. “Food photography has evolved to being more than just capturing the perfect-looking dish,” says Joann Pai, a Vancouver photographer whose thoughtfully composed Instagram posts of pastries and tapas echo the still lifes of Paul Cézanne. “It's becoming more about creating a scene that evokes feelings around food.” In other words, food photography is going through the same transition that art forms like painting and music experienced when competence becomes ubiquitous; the true artists respond by breaking with conventions that have become stifling.
Some photographers are separating themselves from the throng by envisioning each of their images as part of a grand narrative. New York chef Camille Becerra opted for this approach when she launched the Instagram account for her new Soho restaurant, Navy, which has a slightly nautical theme. “I wanted our Instagram to have kind of a story to it, about this quirky vibe that the restaurant has,” says Becerra, a former Top Chef contestant who also worked as a food stylist. Her photos seem tailored to convey a consistently rustic, windswept mood; clicking through her images of whitefish tails and scattered ramp leaves can feel a bit like reading a short story set on the coast of Newfoundland.
Becerra's penchant for shooting stripped-down ingredients is also part of a broader trend in the genre toward deconstruction. Photographers are pulling apart dishes and shooting their components in isolation, as a way to provoke discourse about the alchemy that goes into cooking. “It's like knowing which farm your chicken breast came from,” Janelle says. “By appreciating the origin of the food, you are able to appreciate the larger, finished piece.”
Chefs too have become fascinated by the explosion of food photography—and it's affecting how they cook. “They're starting to consider how a dish will look when it gets out on Yelp, when it gets out on Instagram or other social sites,” says Goldberg, who says he constantly hears from chefs who thank him for shooting their food. By observing how their dishes are picked apart and reimagined by other creative souls, chefs can stretch their thinking about what constitutes a successful dish.
For the moment, the one great technological limitation on smartphone food photography is poor performance in low light—which is why the best photos are typically of breakfasts and lunches rather than dinners. That may change as phone cameras improve. In the meantime, though, chefs might consider equipping their tables with lighting kits. –Source: Wired
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