I have an early memory of going photographing with my dad on a morning after a big ice storm came through. It was just after Christmas, the storm had knocked out power to much of the area, and the streets were thick with ice, impossible to drive on. I finally had my first “real” camera, an SLR with interchangeable lenses, and, happily, the same model as my father—a Pentax Spotmatic—so I could borrow his lenses. A winter wonderland, a sunny day with every surface covered in glass, and a camera bag full of gear.
I can still feel the temperature and the thrill of the crack and crunch of boots breaking through the ice-covered snow. And I can remember looking at this incredible scene and thinking, “What do I photograph?” I was paralyzed by my options, not only because I had (for the first time ever) all the gear I could want, but also because there was nothing to photograph because everything was amazing.
What I remember most, however, was my dad beside me, saying either with his words or by raising his camera, “Hey, David, take a look at that,” and then he’d hone in on some detail I never would have seen. I mean, of course I would have seen it, but I never would have thought of it as something that might make an interesting photograph. I wish I still had those photographs. I remember ice-covered berries on a Mountain Ash tree, shot closer than I knew my lens could go. I recall being mesmerized by the contrast and the colour and how different the world appeared when I looked through the camera.
That was the day I started to learn to see, to really perceive the world, as a photographer. And as a photographer, my life splits at that day-long moment, probably only days after my 15th birthday.
My dad is gone now, and we had as complicated a relationship as many fathers and sons, but I will always remember his voice saying, “David, look at that.” I hear it as I photograph even now, though I now hear that voice as my own. It’s still there, showing me something I overlooked, something I missed in my distraction. Helping me see the possibilities as I shoot.
No matter how that voice gets its start, it must eventually become our own—one that we must hone and train if we’re to rely on it to get us past the obvious stuff in a scene and see interesting possibilities.
So how do you train that voice and get better at finding your “Hey, look at that!”? The ideas in my last article are a good start, but here are three more.
- Know What You Like
So much of photography is about personal taste. That’s part of what makes your pictures your own, but I don’t just mean which subjects you like. Yes, I like bears and rhinoceroses, but that’s a small part of it; I prefer certain colours and ways of combining them. Some people don’t like colour at all. I prefer certain points of view and feelings in an image, certain kinds of compositions.
When you know what you like—really know it and really like it—you’ll see it more than other things, and you’ll see it differently than others. Your “Hey, look at that” will be louder on those things. What kind of lines do you like? Colour? Shape? What kind of emotions do you like in an image? Are you a see-the-world-up-close kind of person or the kind of photographer who likes a sense of real vastness? Know what you like and go all in on that. - Study Photographs You Like
You should probably study all kinds of pictures, but the ones you really love will probably help you hone your voice a bit better. Who needs to get good at seeing things they don’t like, right?I bet there are photographers who make work you adore, the kind of images that take your breath away. They’re the type of photographers you wish were beside you as you photograph, whispering their own “Hey, look at that” over your shoulder. The best way to hear those whispers is to study their work. Every one of their photographs is its own “look at that,” and you can learn from it. Studying their photographs will help you learn to see what they see, and how.
Elliott Erwitt (which my auto-correct keeps changing to Elliott Earwig, and I think he’d find that amusing) taught me more about juxtaposition than any other photographer, and because of him I’ve learned to be more sensitive to those contrasts. Steve McCurry taught me more about composition and the power of a moment, especially on a human face. With each image I study, Steve whispers, “Hey, David, look at that,” and it becomes a little more likely I’ll see it when I’m photographing. - Interrogate Your Work
We’re all a little too close to our own work sometimes and prone to thinking it’s either much worse (or much better) than it is. Both perspectives can be unhelpful, but just believing it’s good work because you like it can be blinding. It’s helpful now and then to ask yourself what it is in the image that someone else might find interesting. Is it the light? A line that leads through the image? Is it a feeling of depth? Is it the way you shot through a bit of an opening in the foreground and framed the subject? And since I mentioned Elliot Erwitt, is it a juxtaposition that makes me laugh, or the kind of moment on a human face that McCurry referred to as when “the soul drifts into view”?
We don’t respond to the elements in an image and the choices you made with them for no reason. Some things we find interesting, and if you can’t find a reason that I might resonate with your image, it’s a good sign I won’t. Or it’s a sign that there’s room to become more sensitive to the things that draw us into an image, and to become better at making photographs that express those things.
Your “Hey, look at that” voice can be trained. It can be honed and become more sensitive, and as it does, it becomes easier to see the wider gamut of possibilities in the scenes and subjects you photograph. That, in turn, will help you start the process of making photographs with more direction and greater creativity.
Next week I’m going to be sending you a video about learning to see the possibilities, and—I hope—begin a fuller conversation about training your own “look at that!” voice. I hope you’ll join me.
For the Love of the Photograph,
David
Comments
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Wow, I just stumbled onto your photography and writing. This is an excellent read made me laugh out loud and almost tear up talking about your dad and how to SEE!! I love the idea of training my own internal voice. These are excellent ideas and skills that you share. Can’t wait to read more of your articles!!
New big fan-Sharon
Thank you! Enjoyed this post tremendously as you drilled into a very specific action/question that will be easy to take into the field.
Thanks David. I love the idea of interrogating your work. I look forward to your video
Thank, Tim!
Wow, this hit close to home both in the way I shoot and also how I like to teach. Thanks for this, I’ll be sharing it!
So happy to write things that people like you find valuable. Thank you, Kathleen!
Hello David!
Thank you for sharing such inspiring reflections about how to analyze our own photos. Devoting some time to analyzing the reasons why some photographers’ style appeals to me more than others’ is very much to the point, because liking them only without expresssing “why” won’t help us much to improve our own style.
I am very much looking forward to getting your video next week.
Photographically yours
Mireille
Thank you, Mireille. 🙏
David I’ve been a longtime fan of your work and writing. Your “look at that” column made me think that you and your readers might be interested in another way of saying “look at that.” I’ll mention it briefly here, but would be happy to expand (or talk) if you are interested.
Avid photographers have many thousands of photographs that exist, but are not used or thought about. It’s perfectly possible to go back through photographs you haven’t looked at for years and find many “look at thats” that you never noticed before. And you may decide to use those photos in different and interesting ways. I’ve recently begun incorporating some photos into collages, combining images that at first blush have no relationship to one another, but on further consideration I’ve said (to myself) “look at that”. And you can present them in any way you want–upside down, overlapping, etc.
Arnie
Spot on, Arnie. I advocate for frequent repeat edits – going through your old work to see what a younger you might have missed. The number of times I find something I overlooked in the 3-6 previous edit sessions is astonishing.
Thanks for this (and your other) emails with great info integrated with your own story, David. Like Jo, I was moved by your words. I look forward to your video about learning to see the possibilities. <3
Thank you so much, Carol. Good things are coming!
Wow, David! You brought a tear to my eye this morning. Thank you
Thank you, Jo. A good tear, I hope? 😉 Love to you and Jim.