I’m taking a bit of a chance with this one, but as I’ve been talking lately about the poetic possibility of photographs, I thought I’d make some further observations. I read a little poetry most mornings, coffee in hand, as I gather my wits for the day. Lately, it’s been Billy Collins, a two-term Poet Laureate of the United States. Here’s one of my favourites, pulled somewhat at random from the pages of his book, Aimless Love.
Gold, by Billy Collins.
I don’t want to make too much of this,
but because our bedroom faces east
across a lake here in Florida,
when the sun begins to rise
and reflect off the water,
the whole room is suffused with the kind
of golden light that could travel
at dawn on a summer solstice
the length of a passageway in a megalithic tomb.
Again, I don’t want to exaggerate,
but it reminds me of the light
that might illuminate the walls
of a secret chamber full of treasure,
pearls and gold coins overflowing the silver platters.
I feel like comparing it to the fire
that Aphrodite lit in the human eye
so as to allow us to perceive
the other three elements,
but the last thing I want to do
is risk losing your confidence
by appearing to lay it on too thick.
Let’s just say that the morning light here
would bring to anyone’s mind
the rings of light that Dante
deploys in the final cantos of the Paradiso
to convey the presence of God,
while bringing the Divine Comedy
to a stunning climax, and leave it at that.
Billy’s poems share something with the best photography: they conjure memories and dwell on the smallest of details. They pluck this one little, seemingly trivial, detail from life, something we’d have missed otherwise, and it’s like he’s holding it up for us as a snapshot and saying, “Hey, did you see this?” And we nod and say yes and go back to scrolling on our phone or whatever else we were doing, and he pokes us, again, “No, did you really see this? Look closer.” He implores us to stop the restless scroll our eyes have so recently learned.
Much like the best photographs, Billy begs us not to take things for granted. To notice. To observe. To linger on things that would be otherwise unimportant were they not so elegant or beautiful or curiously juxtaposed all on their own. In Gold, he reminds me of every moment I’ve ever been with a photographer who stops in her tracks and says, “Oh my God, look at the light!” Only a photographer would say that, would notice the way light feathers off or paints everything with gold. Only a photographer—or a poet.
This is how I like to make my photographs, but it’s also how I like to read them, which is more the point as I write this to you this morning. I wonder what we’ve lost, having turned our lingering enjoyment of a photograph into a whistle-stop (at best) as we scroll our way on Instagram to the never-arriving end of our feeds. Certainly, we’re less inclined to stop and enjoy (for example) Sam Abell’s pears ripening on a Moscow windowsill, which is a shame because there’s as much magic there as there is in Billy Collins’ morning light in Gold. It’s magic, but not of the David Copperfield kind. It’s not spectacle. It’s more subtle than that, like a feather on skin. It’s quiet. Slow.
Poetry isn’t the kind of thing you enjoy in a rush. It begs to be read (and re-read) slowly. It begs to be read aloud so you can feel the shape of the words in your mouth. It doesn’t necessarily ask to be understood, but experienced for the pleasure of it. The same can be true of photographs. They can be made and enjoyed for reasons all their own.
My two most recent photo books are Crimson Line, A Natural History of the Cochineal by Trent Parke, and Heian by Seiju Toda. Both are what I’d describe as poetic, filled with images that, at least to my eye, have no “point.” No information to relay, no story to tell. But they are meditative. They invite me to slow down and just enjoy the images, to let the shapes and colours remind me “of the light that might illuminate the walls of a secret chamber full of treasure, pearls and gold coins overflowing the silver platters,” or of something else in which I find pleasure and wonder. Saul Leiter’s photographs do this for me. Ernst Haas, too. Sally Mann, and Joyce Tenneson. Elliott Erwitt. Willy Ronis. J.W. Turner, as well, and though he was a painter and not a photographer, I hardly think that matters; the poetry is the same either way.
Unable this year to photograph the things in which I normally find that joy and magic, I’ve found myself enjoying photographs even more than usual. Less for what I might learn (though it happens despite my best efforts) and more from what I might feel. The pleasure of inhabiting a moment through someone else’s eyes. I’m wondering if the fact that it has been over six months since I was on Instagram is partly to blame for this growing (returning?) pleasure I’m finding in slowing down with an image and taking the time to savour the poetry of shape and light, moment and shadow, and not ask more of it than that it make me feel something.
That’s all. In what can be a very cerebral and often technical craft, I want to remind you not to lose the love of the image itself—not to forget the simple joy of seeing light fade into shadow or colours blend into some harmony or feeling you might not be able to describe in words, least of all in the effort to critique or evaluate the image. I want to remind you that not every image needs to be an epic, a spectacle, or really anything more than a subtle singular pleasure that calls to mind a memory or an experience. Don’t forget just to enjoy it, to let it awaken you, and seduce you into paying a little more attention, not only to the photograph, but to life.
For the Love of the Photograph,
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
So beautiful !…… “Oh my God, look at the light!” is something I also say as an artist…..the joy of first seeing it, then the challenge to represent it in paint. Thanks
Pingback: The Pleasure of the Poetic - ScpOnline
Very inspiring David! Never thought of connecting photography and poetry like that. I’ve always tended to perceive cameras as some kind of music instruments and people would play their own melody. Your post makes me want to explore this connection more now 🙂
Thanks a lot, David ! Poetry and photography go hand in hand! Both of them I can say they are a divine inspiration sometimes. Thank you for the poetry 🙂
Thank you for all the years of poetic inspiration you have brought to me as I learn to be more more available to interpretation of “meaning” in my approach to photography and photographs. As I reflect, all I can say is a childlike “wow” as photography has inspired my human experience (more so in my latter years). You are very kind to bring us Billy Collins. My Uncle has just published musings in his book Dirt Road Poems and after reading your latest Contact Sheet I can see a common thread. Thank you again for being a Creative Instigator.
The pleasure is mine, Ted. Thanks so much for being here, and for chiming in.
Thank you for this message. I am not a big poetry person but I appreciate the analogy to slowing down and enjoying the simplicity of a photograph. I am teaching a beginners photography class for the first time and they are eager to learn the technicalities of photography and I keep talking about light and how to see it and feel it but can never quite put my finger on how to explain it to them. I think this gives me a better sense on how to think about and convey the simple meaning and feeling of a photograph to people who are newer to the craft.
Hi David, I regularly enjoy and benefit from your thoughts on the creative process. This time I particularly feel that I need to thank you for this post (as well as all your others). Let’s learn again to spend time with the image and enjoy whatever it brings to us, as with good poetry it takes time to reach a full appreciation of any work of art.
Ahhhh. Lovely thoughts. Go softly into the good light.
This is so true… I recognise myself a lot in what you wrote.
(And it probably explains why I stop every 5 meters when I’m walking or why I stop the people around me when I shout “Look !” here and there (and they don’t seem to always understand why)).
Thank you for writing about it so beautifully (poetically should I say ? 😀 ) and reminding us about the importance of art in our life <3
Good post, David. It was a very timely and welcome reminder.
I loved this David. It made me think of an old post that I wrote about simple times. Magical in their own light/way.
You’re always an inspiration. Keep shining.
Was instilled with a love for both photography and poetry very early in life. At 82, I still claim to carry a pocket full of poems every time I go out to photograph. It is amazing how often I will see something that triggers a poem of a line from a poem to be photographed. They are great companions and I thank you for bringing this to light in your post.
As a mother to a lot of little ones, this is one of my favorite writings of yours. Often I photograph those little things I want to remember. To help me remember the miraculous in each little day that I might otherwise forget in this busy time of life.
This is why I am always so encouraged and inspired by your writings and work. Thank you for sharing. I’m always reinvigorated to pick up my camera each time after I read (and reread)!!
You are absolutely right, David. Photography and poetry are sisters to paraphrase Ruskin’s famous words. All three of them require us to slow down and make the most of the moment. What you write also reminds me of what W.H. Auden, pointed out about poetry . It can communicate before it is understood.
Thanks David, I fully agree with you.
And I always wonder why a lot of photographers feel obliged to explain in details where and when they took this picture, with such lens, speed and stop, and what is its meaning. I think that if you have to explain what you intended to show, it’s because you failed to show it.
I want to tell them : “Shut up and let me appreciate by myself what I am seeing, let me understand and feel what I want to, let me be the only judge of my feelings.”
(As I am French, let me apologize for my English not to be perfect ! )
Your English is much better than my French, Jean Michel. No apologies necessary. Thanks for chiming in!
I knew at the first paragraph where this post was going to go and it drew me right in just like something I would look for with my camera. It is in the moment…being a Noticer. Loved this and was challenged by it yet again! Thank you David for always pushing us forward!
You are so very welcome, JoAnn. 🙂
I loved this post so much. The poem was magical and I’m looking forward to reading more of his work. The reminder to slow down and feel an image really struck me. I often feel unsettled and confused on how to manage social media, both the pressure of being a part and then the overwhelming experiencing of scrolling through my IG feed. I long for a physical print to look at, a book in my hands or just the experience of the morning light. This inspired me to pick up my camera in my everyday life and savor the little things.
Thank you for that, Bonnie. I’m glad you enjoyed Billy’s poem so much. He’s a gift to the world.
did you get copyright permission? he’s very keen on that
He linked his Facebook page to this post and recommended people see it, so I think he’s Ok with it. 😉
Thanks for sharing the love for Billy Collins. My personal favorite of his, at the moment, is THE NIGHT HOUSE. If you’re not familiar with – highly recommended.
Mishaps are like knives, by the blade or by the handle.
James Russell Lowell
Thank you for that, Mariann – first thing I do when I’m done replying to these comments is look up The Night House. I love a good recommendation. 🙂
Reading your today post about poetics, it remind me that really often, even during this special time, to put my camera up to my eye and to wait too long. I feel butterflies in my stomach and I wait as if I want something hidden in the picture I am seeing in the camera. Often a thought come up and I feel something should come out of the picture, then, the lights become brighter, the forms become more defined, the colours become more vivid. Then as if it was to choose a lottery number that could win, I push the trigger. It happened often that back at home, excited, I import the photos in the computer. At first I am somewhat deceived. I go full screen and look again and again to finally fell what I felt on site. I believe that the photo contain my feelings and the poetry of the image.
it’s really a magical feeling isn’t it Daniel? Thank you for leaving a comment. It’s always nice to see you here! 🙂
Thanks for this David. Like you I’m tending to move away from Instagram more and more. In my opinion it destroys good photographs. FB and Twitter at least allow you to see the whole image, but all social media have mostly killed photography for me. Much better to read poetry and enjoy a good photography book 😉
Best wishes from Tasmania, Rob
I’m with you, Rob. Strange that Instagram, which is, we are told, about the photographs, should be so hostile to photographs themselves and the enjoyment of them. Give me a book or a large print any day! 🙂
I just loved this, need I say more?
No. You have a gift for brevity that I do not have, Beverley. LOL. Thank you.
As it has already been said, thanks for risking a little poetry to yet again open our eyes to the possibilities, nay the life giving staple and holistic remedy of slowing down, beholding the minutiae and take no moment for granted, whether it be looking at an image, reading a poem, munching on a sandwich, savoring a relationship, worshiping God or just loving life itself and finding solace and peace in the mundane and things we so often overlook.
Thank you also for making available those fascinating PDF’s of “Deeply Wild, Colori Del’Italia and Khutzeymateen” which are absolutely beautiful!
Other than my precious Lord and gracious Savior Jesus Christ, you help to add beautiful color and meaning to much of my roller coaster ride of a life and I truly appreciate your part in it my Friend!
Thanks so much for your kind words, Stephen. Makes me happier than you can know to imagine people enjoying my work out there in the world. Best to you!
In a year (or is it going to be three), where the light has left many people’s lives, perhaps it’s time to have a ‘slow photography’ appreciation movement. Instead of the Instagram feeling of scroll, scroll, scroll, each photograph is slowly revealed in just the way the photographer wants it to be revealed. Bonus for a line or two of poetry or prose. Slow down. I don’t know, but I see so many beautiful, artistic people for whom the light has died. Thank you for your poetry and soul that you bring to all you do.
Hey you. Thanks for this. Always nice to see your name here. You’re right: many of us are feeling the light fade a little. But it’s still there if we slow down to see it. Love to you!
I wrote this. Thought you would enjoy feeling the images as I enjoyed your story.
Wishes are best on a birthday cake,
As you watch the flames twinkle and shake.
Given your limit, one wish a year,
Carefully choose the object most dear.
A wish or a dream out of your grasp,
Bolted and locked with break proof hasp.
Delightfully taunting your secret desires,
It dances above the tiny, bright spires.
Time hangs for a moment as singing subsides.
You rest at the brink of changing tides.
The wish starts to tremble, a shattering web.
Inhale deeply. Claim it! Before it can ebb.
One more glance, a caress; but the candles shrink fast.
The wish will be yours with a powerful blast!
Cheers proclaiming you blew them all out!
And it’s yours! You have it, amidst the shout.
Your close for an instant. Savor the feel.
Time is but vapor. For now, it’s so real.
Struggling to linger, ‘gainst reality’s stand.
As it crumples and dies, dust in your hand.
Thank you so much for sharing that with me, and others, John. Time is both short and impossibly beautiful at times. Perhaps it’s the latter only because of the former…
Excellent piece, David.
Thank you, Gary!
Thank you for reminding me of Billy Collins and Abell’s Pears and that light is everything and all there is. We should always wonder at the magic of holding something so fleeting.
Magic, David, your magical words evoking and activating the visual sense, the visceral sensation of seeing those very images in our mind’s eye. You bring both to light with the power of your well-chosen words and your well-chosen poet to quote for inspiration. Well done, well done.
My creative urges are all tingling with intent.
Thank you, Jill. “My creative urges are all tingling with intent. ” This makes me very happy.
Hi again, David. I was a poet before I was a photographer, and your post here rings so true with me. Story has never been a big part of my photographs, but feeling and noticing have been. More Zen than story. I’m wondering if you offer portfolio reviews?
Hi Judy – Thanks for this! Yes, I do, though it’s been a while. Perhaps when this Covid nonsense is over we can meet in person. I’m just up the road. Or if you are feeling a need sooner than that, let me know and we can discuss setting up a portfolio review over Skype or Zoom.
Why hello David. I love this poem and it arrived in my mailbox at a perfect time. Thank you for this.
You’re welcome, Joanne. Thank you for chiming in. 🙂
Thank you David… I especially love to the closing encouragement… and I have also shared the blog URL with my photo clan
Thank you, Dave. I hope you and your clan are doing well. All safe and well in Winnipeg?
Good morning, David: Your post reminded me of this one, by Terri Windling: https://www.terriwindling.com/blog/2021/04/tree-tribe.html
You can scan through the images quickly, noting the somewhat ephemeral quality of them…
… and when you get to the bottom of the post you’ll read that they’re not photographs. They’re drawings.
Wow, that was great, Mike! Thank you for sharing that. Really beautiful work accompanied by thoughtful words.
Wow, David, thank you!
You’ve articulated in luscious poetic prose, one aspect of how my photographic eye has evolved and unfolded over the past several decades. This is one of the reasons why I stop when I have my camera, to attempt to capture what I’m seeing, or will wish that I’d had brought my camera with me … and why some aspect of that subtle interplay of light and shadow, or of shape and texture, foreground and background, grabs my attention, revealing that magic, that transcendence that is so artfully hidden away, in plain sight, within what appears to be a mundane setting or circumstance.
Sometimes my technical skills set does result in an image that is able to capture that subtle magic I saw, felt and interacted with, and sometimes not. And for those images that I feel didn’t capture that magical moment … sometimes after leaving them and coming back to them later (or even much later), I’m able to see that with a bit of post processing tech magic (judicious cropping, playing with shadows/highlghts, levels, and exposure), I’m able to find another bit of magic and poetry in the image. It may not be what I originally saw/felt, but it can be a different visual poem, which I missed seeing at the time of capture.
With deep appreciation of your tech skills, and poetic eye,
Aw, thank you, Muiz. And thank you for being part of this community. It’s an honour to write for such kind and thoughtful people.
Wow! Melted into this post. “Seduced into paying a little more attention.” Thank you.
You’re welcome. Anything to get someone to do a little melting. 😉 Thanks, Vicki.
Thank you for this inspired post, which can and should be the keynote essay for an entire book on The Photograph as Poetry. I have an MFA in Poetry and have published a book of poetry and in many small journals. As a result, I was qualified for the dubious pleasure of teaching writing including poetry for my entire working career. I can say this about it: it gave me a fine retirement. However, that career burned me out on language as the primary vehicle of my creative expression.
I have since turned to photography, especially alternative processes to find a way to say what I used to say in poetry. As the arts reporter for our local public radio, I talk all the time about people slowing the scroll, finding what they love and falling into the image as they would a dream.
The exact evocative image is what the poet seeks to craft in words. The photographic or painted image is more direct—a blow to the brain. Both art forms can be enjoyed at the entry level, but both also require the utmost of training and craft, vision and internal guidance at the highest levels. The toolbox is very similar, and the two have parallel depths.
Billy Collins is a great one to quote because his control of his materials is so disguised under his seeming artless voice. He makes it sound like anybody could write a poem like that, just as Sam Abell makes me think I could photograph some pears in my kitchen window, too. Give either a try, and while we may make something we like, we’ll also understand how difficult mastery really is.
A worthy challenge to a live lived for beauty.
Wow, thank you for that Sandy. There’s so much in your comment that bears re-reading. “finding what they love and falling into the image as they would a dream.” – this makes me very happy. Your comment about Billy Collins’ mastery being so well disguised as effortless observation is right on point. All art with no awareness of the artifice. Although I did have someone write to me in response to this post telling me Billy Collins wasn’t writing poetry, just sentences that were all chopped up. LOL. I think he was expecting a simple rhyme or limerick. I’ve been laughing about it for the last 24 hours! My next blog post: why photographs are not like limericks. 😉
You say it just right every time you sign off; “For the love of the photograph”!
Stay well out there.
Thank you, Will. You two. Raising a glass of Prosecco to you and yours.
You know, David, reading this post, I’m thinking that YOU are a poet. Thanks for the illumination today.
Aw, you’re very sweet, Tracy. Thank you. My inner poet mostly disguises himself most of the time.
Hope you are well.
This post is timely, of course, for a lot of ‘us’ who’ve maybe lost (or are losing) our mojo. I love Billy Collins & the comparison to poetry…the ‘wait, did you see that’…lovely.
I own a huge collection of poetry; it rescued our meals when David brought politics to the dinner table. Instead I pulled one of my books of poetry, and I read/we discussed the poems. In addition, poetry always captures in a few words the thoughts and emotions when putting one’s feelings into prose is frustrating or limiting. As photography is an art form that conveys intimate feelings, memories, experiences, poetry, too, is a painting and art form in words.
Hey Kris, thanks for this. Miss you. Love to you and Mike.
Lovely words and, as always, so inspirational and meaningful. I love reading your thoughts. Myself, I have been away from photography for a while. I discovered watercolor painting and that has absorbed me. But recently I had an ‘Oh my…look at the light!!’ moment and wanted my camera to capture it. Those times are always so fleeting…blink and they can be gone. I miss my camera.
I have taken a lot of time to reflect this year and have definitely taken time to ‘see’. I think I may take up reading poetry now. 🙂
Glad you took “the risk”. Inspiring words. Exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you David.
Hello, David! I’ve escaped to Canyonlands/Arches for 10 days of photography; gorgeous Spring light, delightful temperatures and good travel compañeros. The eternity of layers of sedimentation, compressing life (and death) into rock, then sand, then not a whisper of sound.
It has been a couple of years now since I have put down my camera except for the odd family event or cat photo. A combination of the challenges of life, the time I no longer have the luxury to devote to the craft and maybe a loss of motivation. I will say, that throughout my photography journey your writing has always been the one place I would get inspiration for the art itself. So I find myself cleaning out the tens-of-thousands of emails in my inbox this morning and I come across this commentary of yours. A stark reminder of the joy that photography has always brought me. I didn’t realize how much I had been missing it. So, though I never really respond to blogs, I felt the need to reach out and thank you for putting the art of the craft above all else and inspiring fledging photographers like myself to remember to focus on the most important part of this journey – that above all, we are artists regardless of the form that art takes.
Thank you for that. A reminder that I needed to hear today.
Gosh, that last paragraph is like the best kind of manifesto and I think I’ll be printing it up on a card to tuck inside my kit bag, beside my camera, as a reminder of why I love making photographs. Finding magic in the trivial is my favorite kind of treasure hunt! And if I’m not careful I can start to let what others are doing or seeming to be successfulspeak more loudly over my own creative voice.
“And if I’m not careful I can start to let what others are doing or seeming to be successful speak more loudly over my own creative voice.” Yup. Isn’t that the triple-truth? 🙂 So many voices…
I really love this David. I love this direction you are looking into. It’s slow. It’s noncompetitive and extremely personal. It’s powerful and beautiful and did I say it’s slow? If we could only spend more time contemplating and listening and observing vs criticizing and quickly reacting, fiercely raging around like a devouring fire.
Thank you, Jennie! “quickly reacting, fiercely raging around like a devouring fire.” what a word picture! We need to celebrate more than criticize, I think.
Great observations. I have Sam Abell’s book, and your “word picture” instantly placed his quietly beautiful photograph of that Moscow windowsill in my mind’s eye. A perfect visual poem.
I’m a rural family physician and by September of 2020 my constant exposure to Covid at work made me such a danger to my wife of 40 years that I asked her to stay with our daughter’s family in a distant State. Now that we’ve been vaccinated things are slowly normalizing but it has been traumatic.
Image-making proved a powerful solace through this trying time, getting me outdoors to soak in our rural landscape rather than marinating in dread. I’ve been painting more than photographing this past year, but the meditative process behind creating photographs and landscape oil paintings is more similar than different, and each improves the other. I’m taking far fewer photographs than in past years, but feel I’m much more attuned to quieter, more poetic images now, and my success rate has certainly been a lot higher. I’ve been obsessing over the quiet, moody, atmospheric Tonalist painting style, and my photographs have developed along the same lines. I find myself pausing for a few minutes on the way to work just to breath in the cool morning fog, or to study the sunrise light on the dead goldenrod.
No “Chance,” here, as far as I’m concerned. Art is art in all forms and relate to one another. I strive to make all my images poetic. My goal from to start was to make each image “jewel like,” and I still strive for this. I particularly like taking images of everyday life and showing how magical and poetic it is. I am not religious at all, but spiritual, for sure. When I was very young I was always looking for magic and miracles, now I look around at this world, this
uni-verse, my life inside and outside and realize, hell, it’s all a miracle. How else does fire, earth, wind and water get up, start looking around and wonder about it all?
LOL. Well it sometimes feels like a chance. Not sure why but it’s always these posts that make me think twice about hitting publish that get the most thoughtful commentary and engagement. I’m glad it resonated. Your comment about the ubiquity of miracles reminds me of a song by Peter Mayer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KiypaURysz4 – ignore the cheesy video and enjoy the words. It’s a beautiful song, even for the non-religious, which is how’d I’d identify myself.
Thank you, David,for this. I am now checking the library for poetry books. I left Facebook and Instagram in December and have learned to slow down and enjoy life again without aimlessly scrolling. I’m trying to enjoy the little things and notice the woodpecker in the morning as I open the chicken coop or the feral cat that seems to be living in our back woods but always turns to give me a nod before walking back into the forest.
This is one of the best pieces you have written.
The genesis of the discernment of this incisive view perhaps comes from a the loss of quiet time in our lives and how this loss prevents us from stopping to linger at a print, to give time to experience the emotion that prompted the photographer to press the shutter button at the exact moment he or she did. Our lingering pauses our busy life and opens us to the invitation to enter the photographer’s eye and hopefully join in his/her joyful experience of capturing that which moved us to linger and share. A connection is made without spoken words. Like our cherished poems is this why we revisit our favourite photographs?
Wow, thank you, Denis.
What a pleasure to sit with my morning coffee and imagine Billy’s poetic photos for the mind and then to reflect on David’s pure compositions of winter scenes and textures from Hokkaido. There was a fleeting moment when I regretted that I was a tourist and not a photographer when I visited northern Japan and Vancouver Island so many decades ago, but I am thankful to have discovered it now.
Safe journeys David and thank you
You’re welcome, Jamie. And thank you for being here.
The scene within the scene I call it. Seems many this perspective and even I’m guilty of it.
“….seems many miss this….” left out a word there
I knew what you meant. Always nice to hear from you, Stephen.
Thanks David for your illuminating article, which I shall share with my friends & colleagues at the Friends of The Royal Botanic Gardens Melbourne (Australia), photography group, I am sure they will enjoy it as much as I have. The images attached to your article are just stunning, as always. Thank you . Adnan
Thank you for sharing this, Adnan. I have fond memories of Melbourne but never got to the gardens. Perhaps next time.
Your message is so elegant, touching and inspiring. I’ll leave it at that so as not to interrupt the after glow of your words. They will impact my photography. Thank you.
Thank you for saying so, Susan.
Waking up this morning, I smile,
Twenty four brand new hours are before me.
vow to live fully in each moment
and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion.
Thich Nhat Hanh
Well said, Wayne. I love Thich Nhat Hanh. Thanks for reminding me.
Great post David. There is a constant tension between slow and fast ways to look at the world, slow being more preferable, thus finding its way into my life where days often feel like a blur of activity. I guess all I want to say is keep writing about this as it’s important to many and we all needed to be reminded to slow down more often and appreciate what’s in front of us, in reality and imagination.
Thank you, Luba. I’ll keep writing if you keep reading. Deal? 😉
Beautifully written. Thank you for this lovely reminder of why I started photography in the first place. Time for me to take one step back.
Thank you, Jean.
Good morning David. I can relate to “Gold” and the way photographers “see” things others don’t notice. Yesterday afternoon I glanced out the front window and noticed how the light was hitting my pathetic but brilliant red tulips and I gasped and grabbed my phone to snap a pic before the moment passed. Stuff like that makes me happy. 🙂
Makes me happy too, Patti. Just to be aware and alive, right?