One Thing: Simplify

If everything went to plan, I’m currently in the bush on the Zambezi River, probably just settling in for the evening by the campfire with a whisky in my hand and a blanket of stars above me. Behind me, a forest of winterthorn trees, and around me, the song of frogs. In the distance, splashing and the deep guttural noises of hippos that sound like the lascivious laughter of old men. More than my happy place, it’s a place of deep peace and contentedness. As you read this, I’m a couple of days into one of my longest trips yet, my mind already full of the possibilities and hope for the photographs I’ve yet to make.

More than anything else, this is why I do this. My days behind the camera will be a constant back-and-forth between peace and panic, deep serenity and second-guessing myself about the direction of my work and the choices I’m making. But even when I’m distracted by the picture-making, there is wonder. Part of that wonder is a response to the wildness around me. And part of it is that I get to experience it at all. I wish the 16-year-old version of me could have had a glimpse of the life he would one day get to experience. I wish he could have known that the adventures he longed for would be so much wilder than he could ever have guessed. It might have made the winding road to get here a little easier.

Far from a vacation, this trip will be a lot of work, especially mentally. But that mental game is no different for my being in Zambia—and later  Zimbabwe—than it is for you wherever you love to photograph. I don’t know why I’m so interested in that mental game, but I think it’s the hardest work in photography.

I am deeply honoured to have National Geographic photographer and dear friend Paul Nicklen write the foreword for my next book. One line especially stood out to me, where he wrote about the elements of that mental game: “We call these soft skills, and that name does them a disservice. They are the hardest skills in the craft, and they take a lifetime to learn.” It gives me some peace to know that Paul still considers the mental game the most important—and hardest—part of the craft. I hope it does the same for you.

There are a lot of ways to play the mental game. When I head out with my cameras in tomorrow’s twilight, I’ll be pulled in a hundred different directions by all the possibilities. Some of the opportunities I will seize, some I will squander as I mess with my gear, some I won’t see at all, and some I’ll take a risk on and try something new, to varying degrees of success.

Through it all, however, I’ll be whispering to myself (sometimes with swear words), “Slow down and just make it about one thing, David.”

There are three elements to that, three ways I’m trying to guide my thinking. The first is this: slow down. Take a breath. Focus. It need not be any more complicated than that. But I need the reminder. Slow the flock down, duChemin.

The second: make it about something. Be aware of what you’re reacting to. Is it about the light? Is it about the way the two baboons are interacting with each other? Is it about the gaze of the leopard, the motion of the herd, the gesture of the elephant as it reaches its trunk for the higher branches? Make it about that. What choices magnify what you want the image to be about? Sure, ask yourself about the settings, but don’t stop there; ask instead, “Which settings will most amplify what this one image is about? Which lens? Which composition?

And then this: make it about only that one thing. Don’t worry about the next photograph; that one can be about something more, or something different. Just make it about one thing. Exclude everything unnecessary, and if you’re not sure whether it’s necessary, exclude it and then add it back in if the image loses the magic without it. Simplify. The more elements you include, the greater the chance you’ll dilute the magic. This is about isolation, and cropping tight is only one way to do that. You can isolate with a shallower focus, isolate motion with a slower shutter, or move your camera position. You can expose for the highlights and exclude detail by letting it fall into dark, luxurious shadow. You can wait for the scene to get less cluttered, for a stronger, simpler moment.

It’s hard to live without distractions, even in the bush with no phones and limited wifi access. The days are pretty simple here, but the distractions are so abundant it’s a wonder I don’t come home with whiplash from all the looking around. How lucky we are that the camera gives us tools to focus our attention, both as we experience the wonder and in the resulting photographs. But first, we all need to slow down. Take a breath, maybe fall in love with your subject, and then—once you’ve laid the groundwork—make it about one thing. That’s enough.

For the Love of the Photograph,
David