Walking the streets of Sienna under a full moon, the whole town under a shifting blanket of fog that seems to roll around on its own whims, I walk around a corner and the scene I photographed so unsuccessfully yesterday is now a canvas of pastel colours: lilacs and yellows and emergent pinks.
I catch my breath and make a dozen frames, changing my point of view a little here, my focal length a little there, and with those changes, I nudge my composition around. I know the light is limited, but figure I have a good ten minutes in which to slowly pull my ISO down a bit, maybe push my shutter speed up a little.
I consider putting the camera down for a moment or two while the light comes up and brings with it a few more stops of needed light. But I don’t. For whatever reason, I make a few more frames and get my composition where I want it. I make a couple photographs.
And then the beautiful yellow lights blink out so suddenly it leaves me wondering what just changed—the colour depth and contrast in the scene gone completely. No more leading lines created by the lights. No more warmth. The basilica is still there, so are the foreground homes and the full moon. But the scene that made me catch my breath and put the camera to my eye is gone. I put the camera down and go looking for what pulled me out of bed in the first place: the promise of a cappuccino.
This scenario repeats itself more often than I can tell you. And it flies in the face of the wisdom that I so often try to teach my students, keeping both truths in tension with each other. You have to wait, you have to be patient, you have to allow the scene to reveal itself, for the light to improve, for the weather to shift. But you also have to make your photographs while you can.
There is power in patience, but when the moment is here, it’s often all we have.
Light doesn’t always get better. Weather doesn’t always shift. Moments often happen only once, never to be repeated.
The photographer’s craft deals in the simplest raw materials: light and time. Of these, time is the scarcest.
It is, perhaps, the key to why photographs are (or can be) so treasured. They capture something temporary and fleeting for what feels like forever.
We never imagine that the portrait we made of our father last Christmas would be his last.
We think our children will outlive us until a cancer diagnosis shatters that belief.
We believe things that have always been will always be. And then one day we turn the corner at our favourite park and the thousand-year-old tree has been toppled in a windstorm.
We return to a favourite city to make photographs in that one spot we just never got around to photographing last year, only to find it gone, replaced by new condos.
The time to make photographs is now. There is no later.
When later comes, it too will present itself as now, but it will be different. It always is. The only thing we can truly count on is the inevitability of change. Sometimes that change happens slowly, imperceptibly, until one day we wake to our gradual loss. Other times it happens in the blink of an eye. But it happens.
Being patient, on one hand, and not waiting a moment longer, on the other, are two ways of honouring the ever-flowing nature of time.
When it’s good, when it’s there, when the moment is sweet, that is the time to make the photograph, because it’s only ever in hindsight that we know that the moment was at it’s sweetest, just a minute ago. And while hindsight might be 20/20, the camera has yet to be invented that can take advantage of that clarity of vision. And when the moment is not there, we wait. Because it comes—eventually, but it always does. It might not be the moment you expected, and it might not look like you planned, but it comes.
Being patient means not only waiting for it to come, not merely passing time, but being receptive to its passing: anticipating some collision of time, light, lines, and the human or natural drama to happen.
I’ll go out again tomorrow. I’ll walk around different corners, as will you. Some thing, some person, some treasured place, moving through time (as we all are) will catch the light just right.
Don’t wait. Never wait. The light came a long way to paint that moment and it won’t last long.
For the Love of the Photograph,
David
PS – Want more like this? I send these articles out every two weeks to photographers around the world who want to improve their craft and explore their creativity and I’d love to include you. Tell me where to send it and I’ll send you a copy of my best-selling eBook Make Better Photographs, as well bi-weekly articles, first-glimpse monographs of my new work, and very occasional news of resources to help you keep moving forward in this craft we love.
“Each and every one of your emails inspire and motivate me to want to jump right out of my chair away from my computer and shoot for the love of it . Thank you David.” – Millie Brown
Comments
David, I discovered this image in the “Colori Dell’Italia” eBook you recently sent out. I’ve probably spent an hour or more with this image over 6 different viewing. There are many really fine images in this book, of course, but this one really grabbed my attention. Are you selling prints?
Sometimes, an image has real magic. Maybe that’s what keeps us going as photographers?
Thank you, Christopher. I’ve replied to you personally by email. I’d be happy to talk about printing this. Details are coming by email.
Thank you David for this photograph which is made of the same stuff as our dreams as the Great Bard once wrote and for your inspiring thoughts on light and time. Your comments made me think of Paul Auster’s short-story entitled Auggie Wren’s Christmas Story which deals with a writer and a photograph whose crazy project was to photograph time. Do you know it? I am writing from France. I love your photographs.
Man! That is a wonderful image! And, what a fabulous moment, I for one, never mind being lucky at times, you can’t count on it, but when it’s there, go for it.
Sometimes, a scene which is so breathtaking to the eye loses some of that effect in the photographic image. This one has so many stunning elements, perfectly harmonising, that it leaves the viewer simply stunned!
This happens to me quite a lot, I live in the countryside and it’s never the same, some winters are just magic. I did capture a fantastic photo at 6am one morning and since then, never seen it like this. Great shot you captured!
Another great article, David. I shoot LF film, and because of the relative scarcity in the number of ‘shots’ I can take in any one outing, I’m constantly arguing with myself “take it now??” “now?” “now?” …” s**t, that didn’t work out well.” 😉 I’ve learned not to beat up on myself too much when I miss the best opportunity, because I know something else will come along.
Thanks for the great lesson in impatience.
Hi, was just sent your link by Mark Jackson of MKJ photography as he was helping me with a buying decision. I just read “More photographs. Less Money” and it was so on the button. Now this blog really touched a nerve, in a positive way.
I like your style
You reminded me of a place I used to go with my grandpa in the central Andes, in Peru. It was a beautiful valley with a pond surrounded by lots of trees next to the river. Looked like a place forever, but years later a mudslide completely changed the landscape. the pond and trees were gone, eaten by the river. Thanks for sharing what your experiences.
NOW…never happens twice, and fate is never late.
So True, “The time to make photographs is now. There is no later. ” Great article! Thanks for sharing!
Everything changes but change itself. A man cannot step into the same river twice, for it is not the same river and he is not the same man.
Heraclitus, Greek philosopher c. 540. BCA.
From my old philosophy professor I learned that the most profound truths often sound obvious when expressed, but may take years to truly comprehend.
As you show eloquently, the moment of the story that we can capture if we’re paying attention, comes and is gone like Heraclitus’ man at the river. There is a deceptive constancy in our perception of the flow of time, and the photographer who understands that, will be less likely to miss the decisive moment.
Wow, wow, WOW….what a gorgeous photo! The mist, the light, those incredible colors! And of course your blog post is spot on as usual! (Do you just read all of our minds all of the time?) It’s such an odd combination, being totally present in the moment and yet being patient enough to wait…all at the same time.