The truth is beneath the surface (and also above it)

Between editing software and artificial intelligence, photographs are no longer trusted as presenting an absolute truth. It’s a different world from the one nearly 150 years ago when Eadweard Muybridge showed racehorses can briefly fly through the air. But even an unedited photo represents only one version of the truth. That’s because there is no such thing as a completely unedited photo.

Often when we talk about how a photograph was made, we fixate on the equipment. We talk about the model of camera and lens, the shutter speed and aperture settings, and on and on. Each of those pieces of data is presented like ingredients in a recipe. The implication is that anyone could follow along and bake the same photo.

But photography, like any other form of art, is interpretive. Every decision, from the type of lens to the exposure settings, is a creative decision that’s shaped by experiences and how we see the world. Even if we start from the same recipe, we shouldn’t be able to resist adding our own touches to make the final product unique. Even if I don’t technically manipulate the digital file or piece of film, the settings I’ve used and the choices I’ve made about what to include in the frame sharply influence what you see in any image I produce.

This is one of the reasons why the renowned landscape photographer Ansel Adams famously said that the most important piece of camera equipment is located 12 inches behind the camera: The mind of the photographer.

When I share an image, it might be hard to see how much interpretation was involved. A single image doesn’t show you what else I could have done with a scene. But when working in Florida recently, I realized that I do have two images that together demonstrate how much of my photography is expressive.

Both images in this post are from Hutchinson Island, located on the Florida coast. The pictures were taken a couple of miles apart and a few hours apart, and they both capture very specific elements of what I appreciated about the place. Both reflect my mindset at the moment I took the picture.

The image at the top was created when I appreciated the serenity of the beach. I felt calmed by the sound of the crashing waves. The delicate shift in colors across the waves soothed me even more. I used a telephoto lens and a slow exposure to soften the water to calm the appearance of the water and draw more attention to the streaks.

I took the other image while snorkeling at a nearby beach. The water was mostly calm, but as I explored a natural reef occasionally a wave would crash, causing hundreds of herring to scurry. With a wide-angle lens on my underwater camera, I was now entranced by the force of the ocean waves and set a fast shutter speed to freeze the action.

That the pictures are different is not because of editing. They’re different because I felt different at the moment I made them. And the job of the artist is to express something. In my case, I aim to express what I found interesting and how I felt as I took the picture. When we obsess over settings, software, and other technical aspects of a finished image, I think we ignore a much more interesting question: Why does the picture look the way it does?

Kevin’s book, Five Minutes in Nature, collects images and stories about his experiences in the wilderness, curated to help you have deeper encounters of your own. Preview and order it here. Prints of his images are available through LivingWilderness.com. Learn about new work by joining his mailing list.)