One of the things I love most about nature photography is that every moment is a fleeting moment. The scenery is in a state of constant change. I was reminded of that recently while hiking in La Vera, a valley-filled region in the mountains of western Spain.
I was there during heavy rainstorms, though I escaped the worst. In the eastern part of the country, 229 people died in the worst flooding to hit the country in years. You can donate to relief efforts here.
When curators talk about the artistic vision behind a photograph, they sometimes start by explaining how the picture represents a singular moment of time and space. The artist found something special right there and then and crafted the image to capture and share that feeling.
By extension, this means that that particular moment was over by the time the film was developed or the file saved to the camera’s memory card. For the picture to represent a truly unique slice of time, everything must ultimately be ephemeral.
Photography is all about light. Its very name comes from Greek words that mean “painting with light.”
Often when we think of photography, we speak of ‘light’ in literal terms. That’s partly because without light, any photograph would be but a solid block of black. But quantity of light is just one component.
As we proceed through life, we’re often focused straight ahead — or at least that’s what we’re told that we’re supposed to do. “Where do you plan to be in five years?” “Watch where you’re going!” “Stop focusing on the past; it’s behind you.” Those are all things we’ve likely heard at some point in our lives.
This relentless drive forward may be the key to succeed in business, but I think to better connect with the world around you, it’s good to look around. Through my Five Minutes in Nature project I’ve worked to notice things that are easy to miss. To do that, I must break myself of superficial encounters that never get beyond first impressions.
Five Minutes in Nature, my new exhibit and book, shares some of my all-time favorite experiences outdoors over the two decades I’ve been a nature photographer. Viewers may be astonished to see how many of them took place so close to my home.
The exhibit at the Roger Tory Peterson Institute in Jamestown, New York, features 33 large-scale photographs representing those experiences. Two of those were taken in my yard. Four more are from small parks only a few miles from my house.
Much of the world was treated recently to a once-in-a-generation solar storm that pushed the northern lights closer to the equator than any time in the past 21 years. It wasn’t the strongest storm ever, but it may have been one of the most observed.
When a bright rainbow can stretch all the way across the horizon, it might be hard to think of it as your own. Dozens, if not hundreds, of other people must be seeing it, too, right?
But even if that rainbow spans one of the world’s largest cities, any rainbow you see is decidedly your own. Everybody gets their own. Any rainbow you see forms on a personal arc drawn from the shadow of your head. Even if we’re standing side-by-side, we’re technically seeing different rainbows.
This idea that even a vast rainbow can be something personal is a core element of my Five Minutes in Nature project, which is on view until July 21 at the Roger Tory Peterson Institute in Jamestown, New York.
