Learning from misses

I recently came back from a trip to Park City, Utah. It is unquestionably a beautiful part of the world and yet I wasn’t able to see it creatively on this trip. My photos felt more post card than personal. More expected than intentional. More travel website than something for my portfolio.

It wasn’t the gear. I had a great camera, two lenses - including a beautiful wide angle. I had polarizing filters. I had gloves that helped me take photos even in the deep cold. I tried to push myself to see things from new perspectives - snuggling a bush here, aiming for the back light there, waking up for sunrise another time (well, a baby helps with that).

I was simultaneously struck by the vastness of the place yet unable to really capture that. Everywhere I looked beautiful landscapes were pocked by roads, modern houses, and other signs of humans taking over. Perhaps that could have been the theme that I lacked but at the time, it wasn’t what inspired me.

Despite my hopes for stronger images, I was still grateful to have my camera. To slow down and ask the questions that helped me see my surroundings in a new way. To be grateful for what I did have - and the people I was with. That’s a lesson perhaps more important than any one my images could have taught me - its more important to be grateful for the experiences we have, and to really experience them through all of our senses and feelings, than to ‘get’ a great capture.

Beautiful Island. Beautiful People.

On our first night we walked down to the beach after a brief storm had passed through. That was the cadence of the week: sun, storms, sun. Within those moments though, were startling visions where the light would play in fantastic ways. 

Locals are used to the rain patterns - some keep umbrellas around, others ignore it. This man rocked a hat that was both functional and eye-catching. I had trouble understanding him but he loved being able to see his photo in the back of the camera.

The people on the island knew how to embrace color - young and old. Their houses were colorful; their clothes were colorful. They mimicked the vibrant colors of the nature surrounding them and it transformed people and place.

Religion plays a strong role across the island but everyone has their own version. These two women represented many of the different contrasts on how people practiced. More to come on photographing in sacred spaces - a topic that has been on my mind for years.

With thousands of acres of protected rainforest in the middle of the island, only a handful of towns and cities dot the coastline. It's an extraordinary place and each view is distinctively dramatic. One of the technical challenges of photographing the island was dealing with the haze - a wash of sand blown over the ocean from the Sahara. A polarizer helped but even after I worked hard to bring the image back to the emotions I felt looking out over the sea and land. 

More bad stuff

A few weeks ago I wrote about the value of looking through old photos for the 'bad stuff'. It's an essential learning exercise for any artist, and photographers are no exclusion.

So here's some more - a look deep into the archives to explore how my craft has evolved and what I can still learn from those early shots.

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Take the domes. This is a good example of where an interesting idea gets muddied by poor execution. Jerusalem is a wild city, and the powerful juxtaposition of religious symbols is a key part of understanding the past, present, and future.

On the top right are two domes from different eras and represent both how different but close the religions are in this melting pot of holiness. But that's also where this photo flops. The dome on the bottom right is cut out off, leading the eye away, there's too much empty space by the Dome of the Rock, and the whole thing is dark, hazy, and lacking clear focus. The eye wanders through the dark buildings between the domes and outward along the treeline instead of focusing on the story.

The camel sign one is a classic: potentially funny story packed with impatience. Seeing this sign in the US would be really odd, but it really wasn't out of place in the desert where camels are abundant and very useful. Had I stuck around and waited for the right moment - the "decisive moment" - perhaps a story would have emerged. But without anything else this is just a "hey, look at that funny camel."

Taken together these are good examples of ways my eye was starting to grow but where I also lacked the patience, craft, and technique to pull off what I wanted to convey.

The lesson from these photos remind me to:

• Take notice of what draws your eye, but explore different perspectives and compositions. The first one probably isn't the most compelling print.
• Remember the story. You can kill a story with bad composition (see domes) or lose a story without patience (see camels). It's not always easy to have the time or patience for a place (waiting for hours in the hot desert isn't everyone's cup of tea, especially if you're travelling in a group) but make those decisions.
• Don't take pictures of big things without a focus. That landscape has like 8 things going on but nothing specifically to draw the eye. Ditch it or figure out if there's a stronger geometric composition or narrow story.

Montreal

It wasn't my first time in Montreal, but when my wife and I visited over New Years it felt like discovering the city all over again. Perhaps it was the foot+ of snow on the ground or how we spent our time, but part of what was different was how we took in the city. 

Hoping from neighborhood to neighborhood, we talked with locals, sampled all sorts of poutine, local beers, hot chocolate, and a range of "new canadian" fare. We marched through parks, got lost in city streets, and took in what was decidedly familiar yet also distinct. It was a lot like being back in Brooklyn - just with a northern twist.

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I was particularly struck by both the architectural and natural beauty of the city. Parts of it are centuries old while others speak more of a modern tongue. There's even an Olmsted park (more themes of Brooklyn)!

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As much as I loved my time in Montreal in the Spring, there was something magical about it in the snow. Whether it was the coordinated and graceful dance of the snowplows or the way runners embraced the 15 degree weather or the way couples slide across the ice on skates to a groove of their own design, Montreal comes alive in its own element in the winter and I loved it for that.

I'll be back.

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