At the risk of being redundant, I present yet more pictures of the view from my backyard. Sorry—can’t help myself. The monsoon season has arrived in New Mexico—I laughingly call it that because the rain we get from it is a fraction of what we saw in Kentucky throughout the year. Anyway, the positive spin is that the clouds keep the heat down and provide a nightly light show guaranteed to make even the most seasoned photographer go weak at the knees.
On this one particular night last week, I sat outside and watched the event unfold. Every time I thought I was done, the light shifted and I was compelled to take “just one more.” So I will post a series here in the order that they happened with the times listed.
8:07 PM
8:13 PM
8:15 PM
8:17 PM
I can relate this easily to photojournalism or any other form of picture-taking. The art of photography seems to boil down to three things: stalking the light, stalking the moment and crafting the composition.
Friday, on the Fourth of July, we will be watching fireworks from a friend's backyard. Earlier this week we watched a different kind of light show with friends from our backyard.
This was a magnificent double rainbow over the Sandia Mountains that lasted long enough for me to grab my camera and shoot to my heart's content.
The more time I spend in my backyard, the more I see that fascinates me. We have a pond that I have photographed before but only for what was on the surface. This week I discovered another world beneath the lily pads. Nothing new, I realize. What photographer hasn't already discovered the magic of the underwater universe? Saturated colors, crooked perspectives, rippled shadows--all contribute to beautiful imagery.
But today I thought about how those images can be a metaphor for the best way to approach people photography. Most photographers, at least initially, make surface photos of people. The best photographers dive beneath the surface to discover the real person below.
I can’t talk about magic places without mentioning Mont Saint Michel. I believe that any thoughtful person who visits this place will agree with me that this is truly a spiritual and magic place. During our honeymoon trip to France last September, Paul and I made a special trek to the Normandy coast to see this ancient abbey for ourselves.
At dusk, modern day pilgrims gather on the causeway to watch the sun set (see the photo in my banner above). People are hushed and reverent. You can almost hear the whispers of pilgrims from long ago, walking the same path to enlightenment’s door.
Even the animals seem to be enchanted, as if they were playing parts in a Disney movie. I could swear they hear my urgent thoughts as I try to mentally guide them into the optimum position for a photograph. They gladly cooperate. A dove dips its head as if in prayer over a gravestone. A herd of sheep heads straight toward my camera, kicking up French dust, with the abbey rising from the landscape behind them. I feel transported in time.
To me a Magic Place is where the collective intelligence of a people from long ago still lingers, infusing the very stones with their spirit. You may know what I mean when I talk of an Old Soul—a person who when you first meet them you know they are special. It’s as if they are more evolved than the rest of us and possess a greater understanding of the world. Their wisdom is palpable.
Some places have this same sort of wisdom. Pueblo Bonito at Chaco Canyon is one of those Old Soul places. You can feel it. As if the breath of the ancestors still mingles with the canyon breezes that flow through the ruins. More than that, it is a sacred place where the gods themselves still hold court.
How do you capture this magic with a camera, a device that is firmly rooted in our modern, digital world? I don’t know if I can answer that. I think you have to be there, be still and let the spirit of it flow through you. Then you begin to feel the magic and photographing it becomes easy. Light, history and your own spirituality come together in a visual expression of the place.
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