House on the Potomac River, Colonial Beach, Virginia

I watched the first two installments of nature and landscape photographer Robert Clark’s Artist-in-Residence for FRAMES. I was fascinated as Robert walked along the battlefields of Antietam National Battlefield in Maryland and managed to see and compose photos that I would have likely overlooked. Sometimes I am not sure if it’s that I don’t see in this way or if it’s simply that I haven’t developed the knowledge and skills to take these kinds of photographs.

Coincidentally, I started to research information on camera lenses. I’m hoping to upgrade my camera body and add a new lens this year. I love prime lenses, and I read an article on 35mm versus 50mm versus 85mm lenses. Much of what I know about photography I’ve learned through trial and error. Let’s see what this does! But in the process, there are some gaps in my knowledge. For example, I hadn’t really tried using my 35mm lens to take landscape photographs—or at least not very often. I paid attention when Robert Clark described his technique. Follow the light. (I had to work with what I had. Bright high contrast, mid-day light.) Always use a tripod. (I didn’t.) Set the aperture for f11. (I almost always shoot at wide apertures.) Use focus bracketing. (I don’t even know exactly what this is, but I’ll look it up this week).

But for today, all that mattered was that I was trying to see and shoot differently.

The tools and the techniques don’t change my voice.

They simply give me another means of expression.

Pump House, Colonial Beach, Virginia

“I need a new habit. Or maybe just a different verb. Ponder is a nice one, reminiscent of, well, a pond. It sounds peaceful. I will fold my hands, take up pondering. Still water, full of life.”

—Abigail Thomas, Confessions of an 80-Year-Old Barbarian

I love this quote from Abigail Thomas. (Thank you to Helen McLaughlin for introducing me to Abigail’s writing.)

I think that pondering goes nicely with another of my favorite activities, noticing.

In a lively conversation with my friend Kate this morning, we talked about how to answer that very difficult question, “What kind of photographer are you?” Clearly, there is no easy answer for folks like us. At the heart of the matter, we simply take pictures of all that we notice, what catches our eye or tugs at our heart. What makes us laugh or makes us mad. What we feel deeply. Things that are silly and things that are serious. People we love and those unknown. Nature and what is left behind. Everything we notice.

Noticing and pondering seem to go hand-in-hand. I’m declaring it art.

Instead of fighting myself, I’ve accepted that I take the path of learning and failing in order to eventually master whatever I choose—in this case, photography. And when I say master, I don’t meant that I “get it right” in any technical sense at all. What I mean is that I find my voice, my creative expression, my way of giving and sharing. For a long time, I thought that giving meant giving everything. I thought that I needed to always do my best. Those beliefs held me hostage because I lived in fear of disappointing someone, making a mistake, or revealing my brokenness. But pain and discomfort are the necessary elements that I need to grow and evolve. These days I set healthy boundaries, most of the time, and I find myself returning to joy so much more quickly.

I’m feeling cooped up. Not quite the blues but something akin to restlessness. I sort through stacks of books and make a pile to give away. I exercise but my heart is not in it. I accept this little spell of discontent and take a walk. I’m thinking about how much I love to photograph those things that are less than perfect. The pots on the porch with no plants inside. The roof lines mismatched. Little things that sit two-by-two make me feel happy. It’s this darn productivity culture we live in that drags me down as though I’m failing in some way by not staying busy all the time.