Catching the Magic
I couldn't count the times I've wished I had brought the camera when I was walking in some park, forest, or other natural area. I couldn't count the magical moments I've missed capturing because I was unprepared. For years, I never thought to bring a camera anywhere when the function was not specifically to photograph something. I'd be walking along and happen upon a scene of such beauty, where the colours and shapes were so perfect and the light was at just the right stage, that I'd stop and marvel and long to share without the means to do so. Or else, I'd be sitting quietly in camp and a deer might slip silently from the trees and cross only a few yards away. I'd hold my breath and watch, but then the magic was gone. All the time, whether walking or camping or even just living my normal routine, the universe was giving me amazing gifts I was powerless to share.
So, now and then, when I had the foresight, I started bringing a camera to places where I might encounter something photo-worthy. My early cameras could be ready in an instant, provided I remembered to advance the film after each shot, but miss the first try and the subject would likely scamper before I could try again. When I did succeed in catching an animal on film, it usually looked like a tiny smudgy blur amid a jumble of leaves. Really. That's a fox, and he was this close!
Even plant photos rarely turned out well. If I was close enough to frame what I wanted, the camera couldn't focus. Now, amateur level cameras are much better, and average folks can use features that greatly improve their pictures. Since buying our first digital camera, I've been able to take some decent pictures of flowers, leaves and even the occasional patient insect. Things that are more inclined to move, however, are still elusive. Stalking up to get the perfect shot of a chipmunk means nothing if the sound of your camera zoom causes him to dart into the underbrush. Even the shots that work don't seem to capture the best of your subject. Depth and colour often come out different in the image, not so striking. You can crop, re-frame and enhance a picture afterward and come out with something good, but rarely can you reproduce the magic of the original experience. So, the first realization is this: Good nature photographers are a dedicated lot.
But the theme of my musing here is not quite that Cheryl can't seem to take good squirrel photos. I've found that even with the intention to bring the camera, I'm still missing capturing the moments that move me. When the camera is ready, photo-worthy events aren't happening. When I put it down to do something practical, something happens that makes me wish I hadn't.
This weekend, while camping, the woods have been alive with small creatures rustling through the fallen leaves, calling and playing in the trees all around me. While I hammered in my tent stakes, a tiny, delicate frog crept out onto a leaf to watch. As I brushed my teeth, a flight of seven herons circled the camp three times, their great wings spread out against the cloudless blue. I've seen chipmunks, moles and shrews, but never so many as when I turned off the motion-detecting game camera I had placed in the brush at the edge of the camp. And the near-full moon through the branches as I returned from the latrine was like a painting. All I have are these meagre words, and my pictures won't convey the wonders. I get the feeling the universe wants it that way.
Impermanence adds to the magic. These experiences are meant to be ephemeral. Recent studies indicate that taking photos reduces your ability to remember a thing- to truly take it in. So, although technology has given us a way to hold onto a moment, we may not really be holding as tight as we once did. I'll still take pictures because it's part of that artist nature to want to share what you see and experience. However, I think it's also important to remember that it's not about keeping a moment, it's about having a moment, and being where you are at those magical times is the first priority.
Please enjoy my humble pictures, even if some of them are just smudgy brown blurs.
So, now and then, when I had the foresight, I started bringing a camera to places where I might encounter something photo-worthy. My early cameras could be ready in an instant, provided I remembered to advance the film after each shot, but miss the first try and the subject would likely scamper before I could try again. When I did succeed in catching an animal on film, it usually looked like a tiny smudgy blur amid a jumble of leaves. Really. That's a fox, and he was this close!
Even plant photos rarely turned out well. If I was close enough to frame what I wanted, the camera couldn't focus. Now, amateur level cameras are much better, and average folks can use features that greatly improve their pictures. Since buying our first digital camera, I've been able to take some decent pictures of flowers, leaves and even the occasional patient insect. Things that are more inclined to move, however, are still elusive. Stalking up to get the perfect shot of a chipmunk means nothing if the sound of your camera zoom causes him to dart into the underbrush. Even the shots that work don't seem to capture the best of your subject. Depth and colour often come out different in the image, not so striking. You can crop, re-frame and enhance a picture afterward and come out with something good, but rarely can you reproduce the magic of the original experience. So, the first realization is this: Good nature photographers are a dedicated lot.
But the theme of my musing here is not quite that Cheryl can't seem to take good squirrel photos. I've found that even with the intention to bring the camera, I'm still missing capturing the moments that move me. When the camera is ready, photo-worthy events aren't happening. When I put it down to do something practical, something happens that makes me wish I hadn't.
This weekend, while camping, the woods have been alive with small creatures rustling through the fallen leaves, calling and playing in the trees all around me. While I hammered in my tent stakes, a tiny, delicate frog crept out onto a leaf to watch. As I brushed my teeth, a flight of seven herons circled the camp three times, their great wings spread out against the cloudless blue. I've seen chipmunks, moles and shrews, but never so many as when I turned off the motion-detecting game camera I had placed in the brush at the edge of the camp. And the near-full moon through the branches as I returned from the latrine was like a painting. All I have are these meagre words, and my pictures won't convey the wonders. I get the feeling the universe wants it that way.
Impermanence adds to the magic. These experiences are meant to be ephemeral. Recent studies indicate that taking photos reduces your ability to remember a thing- to truly take it in. So, although technology has given us a way to hold onto a moment, we may not really be holding as tight as we once did. I'll still take pictures because it's part of that artist nature to want to share what you see and experience. However, I think it's also important to remember that it's not about keeping a moment, it's about having a moment, and being where you are at those magical times is the first priority.
Please enjoy my humble pictures, even if some of them are just smudgy brown blurs.
I could see the images you described, because your words painted wonderful pictures! I could feel the moment with you too, just a bit. It's a bonus that your photos happen to be very good!
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