Have you ever read a fictional story that resonated with you so deeply that it inspired you to travel somewhere? A story that inspired new adventures, that made you go capture images of a place that you might never otherwise have visited? After reading “The Lewis Trilogy” by Scottish author Peter May, many years ago, I knew that I would embark on such a journey.
If you love a place, why avoid it simply because others love it as well? Maybe you walk away with a shot that you think is too typical, or maybe something magical happens – but if you practice the principles of valuing the experience first and foremost, you will still have gotten something out of it. Ultimately, whether you’re at a popular location or off the beaten path, it’s all about how you approach it, and what it means to you.
The best part of this whole experience was slowing down and taking the time to explore this area and understand the context of it, even before the flood. Using the knowledge from being in the park many seasons, I was able to use the weather as my guide, as I pursued these exciting new outcomes in my abstract photography.
The images should not be the primary goal. It should really be about meaningful experiences, about living the life, as it were; this was a novel idea to me. Those experiences, that life, is different for every person, but the unifying truth is that for all of us it is about much more than the photos. The images are the means, not the end.
Being forced to slow down during this brief period of infirmity helped me to appreciate small details, caused me to “see” more and “look” less, all through a lens of deeper empathy and inspiration.
Waiting with crossed fingers for the possibility that Mother Nature will deliver a show is often a good enough reason to stick around. Yet I believe there is another, maybe better reason to practice patience as a photographer, one that presents a good creative challenge. It is the potential to see and frame your subject completely differently, or even find new and unexpected subjects nearby.
The pace of my life was moving so fast I didn’t even realize it anymore. This trip was just a microcosm of what every day had been like the past four years – trying to cram as much as possible into the time available. Soon, a moment in Monument Valley would show me that the slow approach is as beneficial for photography as it is for everyday life.
It’s hard to say if art shows are truly the best way to share my work, but they are certainly the best way that I have found to create significant connections with my audience. These real world connections make for more meaningful sales and feedback.
We are all individuals, and through our images we paint a picture of our adventures. This visit to the Subway reminded me to slow to down and be inspired by nature. That's a significant component of the Slow Photography Movement. When we connect with nature, set aside the competition, and enjoy an experience – whether we've done it once or a hundred times – we walk away with more meaningful images and a richer story to tell.
As a non-photographer, I deeply respect the Slow Photography approach because it defends the integrity of the photographic process as an art form. By slowing down and opting out of point and shoot culture with its generic filters and whiplash content, there is more room for artists to celebrate the details, relish in rich context, and pursue truly excellent final products.
The memories of those nights resonate with me as I think about the purpose behind the Slow Photography movement and the importance of experiences where you are forced to stop and just take in the moment as your shutter remains open collecting the light.
Photography sends me to places I otherwise wouldn’t be, at times I once would have found surprising. So maybe, it is possible that some technology, when used carefully, can make us feel more connected to the natural world; the Boundary Waters is the perfect setting to practice reaching that delicate balance.
As photographers, there are places we visit with which we feel a clear, immediate connection. Moments spent in those spaces deepen our love for nature and stir our emotions while we photograph them. When we get to visit such locations, we get excited, and it is easy to become overwhelmed. Yellowstone National Park is one place that I find very special.
I am certainly not an early riser and usually, when I think about getting up early to catch the sunrise, my mind automatically starts creating all sorts of excuses as to why it is better not to go... Many times I have listened to those excuses, but on this occasion, I am happy I didn't!
Upon hearing of Archway Rock’s collapse, I immediately felt a deep sense of gratefulness for being one of the lucky ones who experienced the beach and photographed the arch still standing. It also made me think about the others who visited this place, before time and the forces of nature changed it forever.
Over the years, I have realized that photography has acted as a vehicle of sorts to get me to places like this and to experience more memorable moments than I could count. I can’t say that I would have taken the time to go there otherwise, without the carrot of a good photograph to lure me. To me, photography is not just about capturing a moment in time, it also acts as point of focus to get me up and out into the world to experience moments in wondrous places like these.
I’ve decided to create a platform for those who share a passion for a slow approach, both fellow photographers and the community with which we share our work. I want to build a space that encourages a slow and engaged approach to photography; one that focuses on the quality of the photographic experience in a way that enhances the end result.
