top of page

Transcending Desire

Last week I escaped to the nearby Adirondack Mountains for a few days of personal photography, something of which I have done very little this summer. Blessedly free of chores and errands and social engagements (my life is so hard), I was just a boy and his camera immersed in nature. The resulting images I regard as something of a mixed bag. There are a few worthy images and severalĀ  not-so-worthy. However, I am allowing that opinion to possibly change with time. Overall I found the image making to be rather difficult.Ā 

I typically enter into these outings with no photographic expectations or preconceptions, only the hope for meaningful experiences and imagery. Or so I tell myself. The truth is, I have always struggled with being a results-oriented photographer, placing outcome over experiences. I am fully aware of this tendency and have fought against this mindset over the years. However, as I havenā€™t done much creative photography lately I found myself with a stronger-than-normal desire to make ā€œgoodā€ images. The locations I visited and the time I visited them were designed to maximize the potential for strong imagery, not necessarily rewarding experiences in nature. Regardless, the resulting imagery was unsatisfactory for the most part. It had me thinking about how the desire to make images can paradoxically hinder our seeing and rob us of rewarding experiences.


In the book The Practice of Contemplative Photography, authors Andy Carr and Michael Wood state that ā€œWhen you go out to shoot, just thinking about taking pictures brings up expectations: what you want to see, what you donā€™t want to see, where youā€™ll find something, and particularly, hopes for some really good photos. All of these thoughts will prevent your mind from settling and your eyes from seeing.ā€ So true. I have noticed the simple desire to make a photo often results in contrived and ā€œforcedā€ images. On this trip, I found myself making images of things that I would normally pass up, subject matter and scenes that were self-derivative of past images or, worse, images in which I wasnā€™t sufficiently emotionally invested. At times I was struggling to see past the obvious. In my zeal to make a photo I was placing certainty over creativity.Ā Ā Ā 


I made the first image below shortly after I arrived and checked into my motel. Wishing to stretch my legs after a long drive, I made the short hike to a lake I had visited several times in the past. I have never made a satisfactory image from this spot, a consequence of limited compositional possibilities and dull light. This visit was no different, yet I found myself setting up the tripod. I used a wide-angle lens and a ND filter, two things I rarely use anymore. I told myself I was being experimental, although deep down I knew I was grasping at straws, trying too hard to make an image where there wasnā€™t one. But, I really wanted to make an image. The result is what you see here. Some viewers may be moved by it, but it does little for me. It feels and looks forced, aesthetically pleasing yet emotionally bereft. I wasnā€™t excited when I made it and Iā€™m not excited by it now. The second image was made the following morning while exploring the shoreline of a pond I hadnā€™t visited before. I wasnā€™t feeling the urgent need to come away with an image, I was simply wandering and observing, taking in the new scene. This image came naturally and easily, a study in texture, shape, and light.


Iā€™ve noticed it is common for photographers to feel a need to make images to justify the cost and effort of the trip. Itā€™s an urge that needs to be squelched. Meaningful images are always there for the making if we notice them. Desire and expectations for images prevent us from doing just that. Let go and direct your senses to all that is around you. Wander and observe, donā€™t hunt and gather. Be patient. See and feel first and good images will come. It is going through the process and the time spent in nature that matters most, not the resulting imagery.



Comments


bottom of page