Continued from an earlier post: Undramatic Scapes (Part One)

I got some flack the other day from someone who (jokingly, mostly, I’m pretty sure—wink, wink) suggested I shouldn’t post so much on Instagram. This followed an afternoon walk of marathon posting where I took about fifty pictures of the colour splotches of the turning autumn leaves, a kind of abstraction in organic oranges, greens, reds, and browns—then proceeded to post at least a dozen of them one-at-a-time into my feed.

I shrugged.

If you don’t like it, don’t follow me, I joked back.

It was a momentary delve into the undramatically mundane.

There is nothing wrong with taking glorious photos of magnificent landscapes, but life isn’t all spectacle. Sometimes it’s the dull moments in between, and we’re far too used to only highlighting the best of the best, and forgetting to tap into the everyday. Sometimes we need to seek out the abstractions of colour and shape from normal things and stop getting tangled up in perfection.

There is beauty in undramatic scapes, or at least I think so: patterns in the autumn leaves, yes, but too footprints in snow or whorls in the clouds or shapes in the bark of a tree or the geometric curiosities of clashing architectural styles. The list is infinite.

If you aren’t looking at the normal things and seeing beauty, you are missing something in the everyday that can bring you immense joy and creative success.

Just shoot me, but I want to share some of that vibe.

But if you are stuck for inspiration with a camera in your hand might I suggest you think smaller: personally I have found macro photography immensely interesting.

The trick to capturing the super-tiny perspectives of the world, of course, is having the right equipment. A dedicated macro lens used to be the only gateway to this world, but many modern smart phones have a respectable macro mode built into them these days. While one is not going to shoot magazine quality pics from such, I’ll be the first to argue that having good enough equipment is often the best way to sample a new hobby or form to see if it piques a deeper interest.

As for subject matter, the world is filled with tiny things. 

I have a vast collection of insect photos, but creepy crawlies are hardly the only mini subjects even in nature which is full of textures and tiny twisting tales to reveal to a curious photographer.

I have often walked for hours looking for a great scene or a landscape worthy of a picture, but pointing a close up lens at ordinary things in my home or own backyard can be a virtual safari when inspiration is otherwise lacking.

Don’t overlook the tiny details of the world when seeking creative inspiration… sometimes literally.

Branched · Part One Continued in Undramatic Scapes (Part Two)

We recently spent a week in the mountains. We hiked. We camped. We stood admiring broad vistas of indescribable beauty and grandiosity. 

I took a lot of photos.

No really: a lot of photos.

And mixed in among the obvious well-metered shots of the mountain landscapes and epic sunsets, colourful wildflowers, and happenstance wildlife encounters, I also made sure that I took a lot of photos of the mundane. 

I snapped shots of leaves, and moss and bark.

I aimed my camera at interesting shadows.

I photographed light pressing between cluttered stands of trees.

I zoomed in on interesting textures in the stone and boulders and cliffs.

I even stuck a camera into a gushing mountain stream and took images of the bubbles tracing over the rocks.

While the other tourists were standing with their camera pointed out at the obvious vistas, I was the weird guy who did the same and then went to pointing it at the vegetation or the rocks, too.

I have hinted previously at the value of finding beauty in the less obvious, and that story comes from seeing that beauty where others often forget to look for it… because none of those photos were unconscious or happenstance. I went there seeking to find an uncommon perspective.  Sure, some of it is far less dramatic than the monumental curves of a world class mountain range, but I might also argue that it’s no less interesting or important.

I tried to wing this to the camera. I turned the camera on my own face (to practice some of that voice work on camera thing I’ve been doing) and attempted to talk about light and shadow and tonality and contrasting subjects, all of it in a meaningful way that didn’t make me sound like a tourist explaining that this thousand year old monument was neat-o, huh?

It occurred to me half way through filming that while, yeah, I love the vibe of black and white photography, what has been captivating me about it as a photographer lately is that it is a kind of simple constraint.

As I wander through my fourth decade of photographic hobbyism I find myself wrestling with a paradox: I could go buy more expensive equipment, travel to interesting places, and photograph amazing sights with pixel perfect clarity—like everyone else.

Or I can find a voice of my own.

I can try to stand out for my own style.

Try to tell my own story.

Try to to turn the camera into something more than a photocopier for the instagram top ten list of popular photo subjects and instead shape it into a mirror for me.

And it isn’t (just) about the black and white.

No.

Rather, it’s about shaping the experience with the camera, locking in the effort to a set theme, or sticking with a single lens for a span of time, or putting the camera into monochrome mode and… and… AND… finding constraints that challenge me to break out of the perfectionism trap.

Each of them is unique.

Each of them is maintained.

None of them are popular.

Look, I am not some kind of dabbling influencer wannabe, just so we’re clear on that point.

I just see it as a tool for expression. It is a blank wall upon which to scrawl the products of my art, as tempting as a passing train car might be to a graffiti artist with a backpack full of fresh spray paint.

It is there, so I use it.

My most recent work on the platform has been me posting monochromatic photos: I only upload black and white pics that I’ve captured, from textures and abstract shadowy artsy-fartsy illusions to simple monotone landscape shots from my wandering adventures.

It is not meant to build a following or create a brand or generate an audience or—forbid—become a revenue source. It is nothing more than a creative outlet that caught my inspiration one rainy spring day and has grown the barest semblance of metaphorical legs that has kept it going for a couple months (so far).

Art is expression.

Art is filling blank spaces with humanity.

Art is using the tools that are right in front of you to spread a bit of joy, drive a taste of curiosity, and cast a feeling out into the universe without knowing what the result might be—if any at all.

It is the silent warrior.

I’ll elaborate.

I go on the various photo sharing feeds and I follow a lot of photographers. A lot.  And after a while it all starts to look the same. Beautiful close ups of animals. Gloriously lit mountain ranges. So many photos of our downtown cityscape with one of our two iconic bridges in the foreground that I start to feel like no one will ever find a way to photograph them in an original way ever again.

My hot take comes down to the value of skill in combination with something almost more important: flow.

All these photographers are amazingly skilled: they can meter a scene, frame a shot, and get the balance of colour and shape and tone just perfect—and sometimes super-realistic. I applaud it. Sometimes I even envy it.

But I also know that those folks are almost certainly leaning into gear and time and technology to find those pictures.

My challenge has long been this: take the dumbest, most terrible camera you can find—or use your phone—and find great shots while in the flow. I run the trails and pause for literal seconds to snap interesting shots. But there countless ways to replicate this approach in your own way: snap pics in motion or in the moment. Ditch the technology. Leave the expensive gear at home. Give yourself seconds, not minutes or hours to wait out the scene: be in the moment, rather than waiting for the moment.

That’s where the interesting stuff is. 

Because if all these amazing photogs could bring that skill and talent to more interesting subjects, tell stories as well as presenting perfection, just imagine the amazing photography that might emerge.

The notion of a “banger trap” pinned down something that I had been thinking about a lot lately as I scrolled through the endless posts by countless technically excellent photographers posting their best works.

All of those pictures of perfectly lit sunsets and amazingly hued mountain scapes and perfectly focussed wildlife glamour shots were technically awesome. Amazing. Aspirational and skilled.

And yet they made me feel almost nothing.

I scrolled and scrolled and scrolled and my mind was on repeat saying: yup, yup, seen it, yup, lovely, yup, yup…

They are all very skilled photographers and will likely have successful careers selling their talent and their banger content. But after seeing the same perfect photos more times than I can count and the abundance of kudos and praise? Well, it strikes me that it starts to seem like little more than a factory product, mass produced and polished.

Instead?

Show me something real. Show me life. Show me imperfection. Show me something I see everyday in a different way that gives me a new perspective on the mundane. Show me more than perfect.

I get it. Showcasing our technical best work is a calling card of skill and experience, but it’s also a trap: a snare line upon which it is easy to trip and snag, that the banger is the ultimate and final stage of making great art. 

Because I don’t think it is.