If you ever worry that your ego is getting too big, let a teenager describe your work.
My 17-year-old stepdaughter told a friend that one of my pictures was in an exhibit. When he asked what that picture was of, she replied, “A sunset or something.”
As with any barb launched by an adolescent, there was a kernel of truth. The picture wasn’t of a sunset, but it was taken about an hour before sunrise.
A sunset would also be a fair guess. Whenever she’s traveled with me and I have my camera, I do make a point of watching for conditions that would make for a dramatic sunrise or sunset.
I’m not alone. Go to any major viewpoint at a popular national park and you’ll find it covered with photographers at sunrise and sunset. You can often have it all to yourself in the middle of the day.
Professionals fall into this rut, too. Sunrises and sunsets have become the default time to depict any sweeping landscape. A colleague discovered this the hard way. While creating a book of landscapes, he quickly realized every page was predominantly red and orange. Publication was delayed until he could add some variety.
It wasn’t always this way. Earliest photographs were taken when the sun was high in the sky. The plates weren’t particularly sensitive to light, so even on a sunny day, it could take well over an hour to complete an exposure.
By the time of Ansel Adams, slow exposure times were no longer a constraint, but filters provided another avenue to maximize drama in the midday sky. On a black and white plate, the addition of a blue filter would make the sky the darkest part of a scene, delivering exceptional contrast against the land and clouds.
Adams was never quite sure what he thought of color photography. He once compared working in color to playing an out-of-tune piano in large part because the more literal nature of color left him fewer opportunities to be interpretive and expressive.
Others found ways to use color to dramatic effect. National Geographic, for example, made a habit of posing people in red coats in their landscapes. Newer films provided an opportunity to be more expressive by accentuating color. Add a fiery sunrise or sunset and you have quite the feast for the eyes. And when you get used to seeing such vibrance, an image taken during ordinary light looks plain.
I still love a good sunrise or sunset, but those scenes now comprise just a fraction of my work. Years ago, I realized that any time I went out with my camera, I almost always ended up finding something to photograph. If you’re only looking for an hour a day, there are 23 hours of wonder that you’re missing.
This image was the result of a Sunday afternoon outing a few weeks ago. It was a sunny day, I felt like going for a walk, and I took a small camera with me. I wasn’t sure what I was going to find, and I didn’t want to be slowed by my heavy camera bag. A few minutes from the car, the scenery brought me to a stop. The afternoon sunlight gave the weeping willows some nice contrast and the river was nearly still. I spent a couple of hours appreciating a few hundred yards of river, longer than any sunset lasts.
(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.)
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