“Black-and-white in photography frees your mind from having to process all the colors,” says Ron Tarver, a visiting assistant professor of studio art at Swarthmore who cut his teeth as a newspaper photojournalist and earned a 2012 Pulitzer as part of a Philadelphia Inquirer team. “You actually see the image—the composition, the message. A truly beautiful black-and-white photograph, in my perspective, is a lot more difficult to make than a color one.”

Which is why Tarver introduces students to photography through a foundational course in black-and-white film. For each assignment, students are given just two rolls of 24 exposures, forcing them to slow down and consider each frame—a challenging task for a digital generation. By learning the importance of light and shadows, they become stronger photographers, period.

“When you shoot in black and white, you see in black and white,” Tarver says. “With my fine-art photography, people would sometimes ask, ‘What did that look like in color?’ And you know, I didn’t even see it in color—my brain had stripped it all away.” —ES

“White more or less symbolizes a blank slate in karate, and black represents knowledge,” says Max Chomet ’12, a high school biology teacher and longtime student of Seido karate who leads adult beginner classes in New York on weekends. “It’s important to acknowledge, though, that when you earn your black belt, this does not denote that you’ve learned everything.”

On the contrary, it marks the start of more advanced training. And to achieve it, students must first return to their roots.

“When in promotion for your black belt, you put your white belt back on,” he says. “This symbolizes ‘beginner’s mind.’ For about a month, you are functionally a white belt again and take all beginner’s classes, in addition to the testing you undergo.

“Going back to white is important—it’s an exercise in humility and reminds the karateka to work on the fundamentals.”

As Chomet enters his 18th year of karate practice, he remains inspired by the Zen phrase “ren ma.”

“The characters in Japanese literally mean ‘keep polishing,’” he says. “The concept is that there is no such thing as perfect—it’s not about getting to a destination. Practice is an active process.” —ES