Dawn at Dolly Sods

I recently returned from an autumn photo weekend spent at Blackwater Falls State Park in West Virginia.   As bad luck would have it, the weather was absolutely perfect – bright warm sunny days without a single cloud in the sky.  Now, why would I be unhappy about perfect weather?  Actually, I wasn’t unhappy about the weather (I’ve learned to gracefully accept and embrace what Mother Nature has thrown my way), although I knew that the conditions would present some challenges.

It took me many years to get to the point where I now hope for rain and overcast skies.  When you’re first starting out, you always pray for sunny weather.  It’s not until you’ve clocked in a few forest or waterfall shoots do you come to the conclusion that shooting during sunny conditions is less than ideal.  As a matter of fact, it’s downright challenging.  As much as we’d love for our cameras to capture the same wide range of shadows to highlights that we can process using our eyes, this is just not possible given current technology – although camera manufacturers are continuing to make dynamic range strides with every model release.

Autumn Glass

With sunny day shooting comes harsh foliage reflections, de-saturated colors and specular highlight blowouts.  But this doesn’t mean that you should just pack up and head home.  While we may not be able to influence our conditions, we can most definitely change how we react to them.  In order to do this, we must be willing to throw away pre-conceived notions about what we we’re striving to capture – and open ourselves up to the ample shooting possibilities that are all around us.

Otter Creek Wilderness

In other words, there is no such thing as bad light, to coin a commonly used saying.  Rather, there is only appropriate light for any given subject.  And there are choices we can make that will increase our odds of capturing something special – even when the conditions tell us otherwise.

Here are a ten quick pointers that you can use when the sunny conditions just aren’t conducive.  So lather on the sunscreen, grab your water bottle, and let’s get shooting:

1. Shoot during early morning or late afternoon:  With the sun at a low angle, you’ll get plenty of great side lighting.  This gives our subjects greater form and shape.  Harsh midday lighting is often flat, whereas early morning and late afternoon light is much more inviting.  Morning light tends to be cooler, whereas late afternoon light exudes a beautiful warmth.  Both project different personalities and moods.  No matter which time you prefer, the light is generally more tempered and even during these times.

2. Extract the scene: There is no better method for dealing with high dynamic range/high contrast situations than extracting the scene.  Typically this will involve pulling out a smaller, more intimate piece of a larger grand scenic – such as a group of leaves on the ground or an interesting section of bark on a tree.   This works best when you exclude any aspect of the scene that would blow out highlights, such as a bright sky or strong specular reflections from a creek.  Zoom or macro lenses can be quite effective for these type of shots.

3. Use a polarizer:  Polarizers are great for reducing reflections and adding contrast to subjects like leaves or water surfaces.  If you’re shooting water subjects like waterfalls or creeks, they can reduce the light by a few stops, which can be helpful when trying to extend your shutter time in order to create those creamy dreamy water effects.  Be careful not to over-polarize water, as you can completely erase some of the surface details that show water movement.  Polarizers generally perform best when your subject is 90 degrees to the sun.

4. Look for luminescence:  Depending on where the sun is and where you’re positioned, certain leaves or forest fauna can look like they’re glowing.  These backlit subjects can be strikingly beautiful.  Use your lens hood to help minimize lens flare and remember to exclude any part of the background that would blow out your highlights.  Learn how to use your histogram (and blinkie indicators) and don’t forget to exposure bracket your images.

5. Find reflections:  Even during sunny conditions, you can still find gorgeous reflections that are worth capturing.  Often, these reflections are found in the shady parts of a creek, river or lake when the sun is striking the landscape at a certain direction or angle.  You’ll also find many good reflections during the magic hours of morning or late afternoon/early evening.

6. Use a neutral density filter: Are you a waterfall junkie?  A high quality filter like Singh-Ray’s Vari-ND can be quite effective for reducing your light as a means of extending shutter times.  Stop down on your aperture (to F/13, for example) and you’ll have a powerful combination to achieve that blurred water effect that you often see on calendars.

7. Use a graduated neutral density filter: Until cameras can capture what our eyes see, these filters will always be necessary under certain conditions.  These tools work best when you’ve got somewhat even boundary divisions.  For example, when you’re shooting an open valley with foreground land in the lower half of the image and the sky in the upper.  The job of these filters is to hold back the brighter parts of an image.  In doing so, the darker parts of the image will be better exposed and more detail will be visible.  Without them, your sky will be properly exposed, but your foreground will be blocked up and too dark.  These filters excel during sunrise and sunset.  While you can always create a bracketed HDR image, GNDs do a much better job of retaining a natural look.  GNDs won’t work in uneven landscapes (like trying to reduce the light coming through trees in a forest).  In these cases, you’ll want to shoot at another time when the light is darker or more flat.

8. Shoot in the shade:  During sunny days, you can often find good subjects to shoot in shady areas.  Shady light tends to be on the cool side, so don’t be afraid to bias your white balance on the warmer side.

9. Give macro a try:  Somewhat similar to the idea behind extractions, shooting macro is a great alternative to grand scenics, especially when the sun in unforgiving.  This allows you to extract a very small piece of the landscape.  Diffusion panels can also be used to further soften harsh sunlight.

10. Try out a new genre:  When it’s sunny and you’re just not feeling it with landscape photography, maybe you should try something different like street photography, for example. Often when I’m driving around in search of interesting landscapes, I’ll come across old barns, interesting buildings and other cool subjects.  Give these a try for a change of pace, then come back to the landscapes in late afternoon or early evening when things soften up a bit.

Even if the weather isn’t what you were originally hoping for, there are still plenty of great subjects to capture.  Sure, we may have to work a little harder to find them – but they’re out there for the taking so long as we maintain an open mind and a keen eye.  And maybe the next photo trip you take, you’ll be lucky enough to get rained on.

Larger Image Versions Can Be Found Here:  http://www.danielstainer.com/Other/New-Additions/3404935_ZGvaL#1531648772_dnHh3rN

In the background, a tied up Basset Hound and a fiery Chihuahua hanging out of an RV window are barking up a storm at the stray Calico kitten that is nonchalantly making the rounds in search of food and affection.  ”Shut up” yells one of the crew, as the kitten scurries into the tent.

The Main Show Ring

A Boy and his Dog (Performer Trailer)

“Those Chinese girls only know five words: power, hello, goodbye and thank you” jokes a member of the set up crew, as the trailer housing the Motorcycle Madness “Globe of Death” slowly backs up to the fairground fence.

Normally by this time, the crew would be practically done with set up.  But with a strong line of powerful thunderstorms and damaging wind predicted to hit the fairgrounds within a few hours, there was hesitation.

Globe of Death

Supposedly, the show manager and his son Zack were working behind the scenes at a fever pitch to try and secure a fairground barn for back up (which never happened).

But for now, the show was being set up outdoors in front of the bleachers in the main fairground performance area. At least the seats were covered, which meant that only the circus performers would get wet.

Set Up Crew

“I think we’ve only had to cancel a show once or twice before,” noted a long-haired crew member, as he lit up his Marlboro in the stiff breeze.  ”But as they say, the show must go on, and people don’t get paid unless they set up” he tells me.

Waiting for the Final Word on Set Up

Only days before, I had jumped at the chance to photograph Picadilly Circus.  No, this is not that famous road junction in London’s West End, but a traveling circus based out of Sarasota Florida that roams the rural back roads day in and day out, playing to the hearts, minds and souls of families living in small town America.

Frankly, I don’t know how they do it.  They wake up early for set up.  They work amazingly hard each day getting ready – with everyone chipping in to help no matter what needs to be done.

Even with cracked ribs, Red (as he was affectionally called) didn’t hesitate to break a hard sweat, often running circles around the younger workers. “In a few more years, I plan on retiring so that I can open up my own Moonbounce business,” Red tells me, as he grabs a heavy set of lighting cables.

They typically run two shows each day at 4:30 and 7:30pm. They break down and pack up.  Then they drive to their next destination later that night and repeat the next morning.  But if you ask them, they’ll tell you that they wouldn’t have it any other way.

For these enduring souls, the circus is not just a job; but an honest and freedom-loving way of life – with many of them coming from third, fourth and even fifth-generation circus families.  It’s in the blood, as they would say.

Peanuts and Her Hungarian-Born Master Tom

And somehow through it all, they still manage to find the time to smile; and to share smiles with all those lucky families that show up each and every night hoping to witness a taste of some magic and cotton candy.

I can think of very few jobs that give back in such a rewarding way.  After all, the circus truly does bring out the kid in us all – which is more than I can say about most of the jobs out there.

Madcap Motor Mix-Up

Once word had come down that the show was a go in the outdoor location, the place really started to buzz.  The kind Argentinean performer and his wife attended to the pen that housed Rocky, the real-life boxing Kangaroo. A few crew members were busy welding together the Globe of Death. And Wayne was making his way to the bathrooms so that he could clean out the Monkey and Lemur cage.

I helped to barricade the bathroom door with a large barrel, because there would be a bunch of crazy monkeys running around the bathroom stalls for about a half hour. For a minute, I actually felt sorry for the fairground worker that would have to clean them out.

Rocky the Boxing Kangaroo

Low Blow

Wayne had experience with crazy animals, as his living quarters were recently trashed when the monkeys somehow got loose.  While most likely a temporary situation, Wayne slept with the monkey cage in his room. And if that weren’t bad enough, the two giant jungle Boa Constrictor snakes also shared accommodations.

Now mind you, these weren’t luxury accommodations like you’d find at some $50 a night budget motel, but small claustrophobic sleepers that lined the side of an 18-wheel tractor trailer.

Each small sleeper measured about four feet across by eight feet long and contained two small stacked bunks – barely enough to fit one human being, yet alone two.  It was here that most of the crew along with the acrobats from China called home. The remaining performers including many of the circus families typically stayed in their own RVs.

Life on the Road

Grace Sitting in the Cab of an 18-Wheeler

Ahh Wayne, what can I say about Wayne.  As the story goes, the circus took him in because he was sort of a homeless drifter whose Mom and Dad had apparently died, although I’m not sure how. Most likely in his early 20s, Wayne was a good looking kid and likable, but a bit naive and gullible.

He’s the kid that everyone picked on, but in a most lovable way.  I know that sounds somewhat backwards in this politically correct “anti-bullying” world that we live in, but it makes sense when you’re living the hard life on the road and trying to find some humor in the endless days and sleepless nights.  I told Wayne that he shouldn’t really worry until they stop picking on him.  In a weird way, I think he actually liked all the attention.  For him, Picadilly Circus was and will always be “Wayne’s World.”

Wayne and His Bunkmate

As a matter of fact, they had a sort of “Jackass Movie” stunt thing going on with Wayne, where everyone was trying to whack him in his privates, and a few were even successful, much to the chagrin of Wayne as he clutched his package in pain while belting off some hearty laughs at the same time.

Don’t ask me why kids find whacking other kids in the nuts so entertaining – and I suppose that’s a different blog posting altogether.  Even the guy in the fake Rocky Kangaroo costume (they used this for meet and greets) got into the act, as a small crowd gathered to watch the main event unfold.

Putting on the Rocky Costume

Wayne Battles It Out "Jackass Movie" Style

Much like candid street photography, building trust is key to capturing fleeting moments and gestures. It didn’t take me long to mesh completely with the circus family, and soon my photographic presence became almost transparent and even welcome.

At one point, Dick Garden, the owner of this circus even offered to buy me a cold cut sub for dinner.  Now keep in mind, this is a guy that lives and breathes by counting pennies and nickels with each and every ticket sold.

There’s probably not a huge margin in events like these when you factor in payroll and travel expenses (this circus also gives away a ton of free kid tickets, bringing in even less money).  And if it rains and the crowds stay away, you’re hit even harder in the wallet. In the traveling circus business, you survive town by town; show by show.

Proud Owner of Picadilly Circus, Dick Garden

Yet, here he was, offering to buy an “outsider” a sandwich.  Truth be told, I didn’t really feel like an outsider (and the circus family sensed this I think). I’ve always been somewhat of a rebel; the type of person who beats to his own drum.

In the depth of my soul, I’m a wandering gypsy just like they are.  The welcoming spirit of the people I met fueled my desire to capture their essence and spirit with as much grace and dignity as possible.

One Big Family

A Concession Worker Makes a New Friend

One such serendipitous occasion came when I was allowed to photograph Jack, the head circus clown who was applying makeup back in his trailer prior to the first show.

Jack Cook has been at this game for many decades, and is a seasoned pro at getting people to laugh at his physical brand of vintage comedy.  Jack’s one man show is called “Madcap Motor Mix-Up,” which features a 1923 Model-T Car that literally has a mind of it’s own. It’s pretty cool (and creepy) at the same time.

Jack Cook Applies Makeup Before the Show

23 Skidoo

If you’re one of those people that is scared of clowns, then his act just might conjure up visions of John Carpenter’s movie “Christine” about that possessed car; or maybe Stephen King’s clown from the movie “It” combined with a touch of Laurel and Hardy humor thrown in for kicks.

But seriously, Jack is a class act and a very talented performer, and his comedy has a nostalgic feel that is both inspiring and entertaining.  All you had to do was listen to the crowds hysterically laughing and cheering from the stands to know that Jack was tapping into something special and timeless – a real sense of Americana.

A Moment of Final Reflection

Then of course there was the Liebel family, headed by Tom, the eccentric yet deeply warm Hungarian patriarch with hair as wild as the animals he trained.  With an air that closely resembled that of an Amish family or even a family plucked right from a 1930s Prairie Dust Bowl time machine, Tom along with his wife, two young daughters and son had charge over “Peanuts” the Elephant – one of the main circus attractions.

Tom’s elegantly attired 16-year-old daughter and teenage son took turns riding Peanuts in the ring – showcasing a dazzling display of thrills and acrobatics, as Mom and Dad proudly spotted their kids from ringside.  There was a real family dynamic going on here, with even Peanuts having a place at the family table.

Elephant Ringmaster (Photographed with Old-Fashioned Holga Lens)

Peanuts and Daughter in the Spotlight

Son Hanging Out Before the Show

To talk about dazzling displays, one of the funniest (and grossest) moments of the evening came when Peanuts relieved herself of dinner (lunch and breakfast) at the conclusion of the last show – a lasting visual souvenir that won’t be soon forgotten by all those who lay witness to her massive fury.  Tom explained to me later that evening that Peanuts was tired and was getting a little payback.

Mom and Dad Spot Their Daughter

A Family Affair

As you can probably surmise by now, the show did go on and the powerful thunderstorms and drenching rain that were predicted to hit the circus with a 90% probability fizzled into nothing more than light rain.  The winds of fate had different plans that day, which I (and all the families who were able to attend) was eternally grateful for.

The Shanghai Pearls

Night Moves

The small town traveling circus is a rare gem indeed, entertaining tens of thousands of families across America with an authentic and genuine charm that can’t be bottled nor duplicated.

I don’t want to take away from all the talented performers that make up larger shows like Ringling Brothers or Cirque du Soleil.  But these are multi-million dollar “Broadway-like” productions run by suits with fat-cat salaries, rather than by a family of performers and workers dedicated to maintaining a quickly diminishing art form.

Motorcycle Madness Performer

Roller Skating Acrobats

For the kind and hard-working people of Picadilly, it’s really more about celebrating the craft and paying tribute to the time-honored traditions that run deeply through their veins.  They won’t make a ton of money doing what they do, but will be rewarded with the richness of experience and bond of family friendship that can only come from living the life of the traveling artist gypsy.

For a brief moment in time, I was able to see through their eyes and step into the colorful show ring alongside them, as the sound of applause and laughter echoed through the stands on a rainy April night in small town America. For tomorrow would bring an entirely new town and adventure – and plenty more smiles to share.

1923 Model-T with a Mind of Its Own

Rodger's Barber Shop - Franklin, PA

I’ll never forget those piles of outdated Life and Reader’s Digest Magazines stacked next to the long row of uncomfortable metal waiting chairs; the reassuring hum of the electric clippers and the rhythmic metallic clicking of the scissors.  And of course, who could forget the intoxicating yet manly combination of spicy Bay Rum aftershave, Clubman talc, witch hazel and cigarette smoke that densely hung in the air like Grandpa’s cheap cologne.   Like a King getting ready to sit on his throne, there was something ceremonial about climbing into the vintage red barber chair as I slowly sank into the well-worn cushion. 

While I didn’t appreciate it at the time, I can now look back on my childhood visits to the old-fashioned local barber with fondness.  What I’ve come to realize is that the barbershop was about much more than just getting a trim.   It was about bonding.  Like a welcoming beacon, the rotating barber pole beckoned men and boys from all walks of life to enter through its doors—the farmers, the tired old businessmen, the fathers with their kids.   And when they entered, they were immediately transformed into storytellers and brothers.

Barber Shop Stories

“Hey Joe, the Orioles look like they could go all the way this year if they can get through Oakland,” or “I’m telling you Mack, Pacino really shines in this sequel.”   Here, boys were made to feel like men; and men always new each other’s first names. 

36 years later as I listen to Lady Gaga blare through the shop-wide speaker system at a generic unisex chain salon that could just as easily be called “Hair Factory,” a young woman named Amber greets me.  On the wall is her recent cosmetology license along with various pictures of her dog.  Next to me, an older lady is getting a smelly chemical perm and a bunch of disruptive children are running around the shop like maniacs as the mother half ignores them.   

Yes, times have changed and we now live in an age of instant gratification and often impersonal computer interaction—choosing to hide anonymously within the shadows of the Internet.   The art of “face-to-face, look ‘em squarely in the eye” conversation is disappearing at an alarming rate as we live out our lives in a rapid-fire virtual world.  And when we do choose to engage in the real world, we often do so with indifference, detachment and distrust. 

While this animal may be endangered, by no means is it extinct.  As a matter of fact, if you visit Main Street in just about any small town in America, you’ll pleasantly find that these small town gems still exist.  This past New Year’s Eve in a quaint Northwestern Pennsylvania town named Franklin, I had the opportunity to experience this authentic “slice of Americana” first hand when I visited Rodger’s Barber Shop on Main Street.  John Rodgers has been a respected institution in Franklin for the better part of 50 years—and has seen his share of history.  Ahh, the stories he’s heard and told.

I spent over an hour at the barber shop, watching a cast of unique local characters come and go.  We talked about our families, the holidays, interesting TV shows on the History Channel, and even John Wilkes Booth.  Yes, turns out that JWB slept in the old hotel room above the barber parlor back in 1864 before he shot Lincoln.  For a time, Booth stayed in Franklin to start up a short-lived venture called Dramatic Oil—while also acting in the local theater.  John Rodgers went into the back room of the barbershop and came back with an old scrapbook, proudly showing us an antique Franklin Theater playbill with John Wilkes Booth name prominently displayed on the cover.  I learned a lot that afternoon.

Customer Getting a Trim on New Year's Eve

I think it was serendipity that brought me to photograph at the old barbershop on the last day of the year.  I’ve lived many lives since my childhood barber days.  But for a brief moment, I was seven again, looking at my reflection in the mirror as I climbed back into the big barber’s chair for a trim.   As they say, “Photograph who you really are.”

Kebler Pass, CO

Intuition, resonance, vision…the decisive moment.  These are the goals the mindful photographer strives for in their unending and almost mythical quest to move beyond looking into seeing.

But how are we to become mindful when we are constantly mired down in technical execution.  For no matter how philosophical our approach, there are certain photographic realities, limitations and constraints that can’t be ignored.  

One cannot simply aim the camera in some random direction based on an intuitive feeling and nothing more—and expect that the image will somehow transcend itself. 

So how then, can the mindful photographer move beyond these limitations—allowing the spiritual, intuitive and self-actualized side of the craft to reveal itself?  Yes, we can never fully detach ourselves from the technical.  But we can embrace and move beyond it.

In my adaptation below, I attempt to explore and answer some of these perplexing questions on what it means to be a mindful photographer. I do not attempt to provide all the answers, but rather a greater path to our own understanding. 

One of the most profound books I have ever read on the subject comes from a renowned German philosopher named Eugen Herrigel.

From 1924 to 1929 while teaching philosophy at a Japanese university, he underwent an intensive six-year course of Kyūdō  (archery) instruction from a prominent Master named Awa Kenzo—hoping to further his understanding of Zen.  In 1948, he published his findings into “Zen in the Art of Archery,” which is widely regarded as one of the most insightful books ever written on the topic of Eastern Zen arts philosophy and spiritualism.

Although this book is primarily about archery, I was able to draw many parallels to photography—and have attempted to adapt some of Herrigel’s original thoughts so that we may further our own spiritual understanding of the craft.

When adapting this, I asked myself…what would Master Kenzo have said to Herrigel if he had been aiming a camera instead of a bow and arrow?  Surprisingly, the answers were remarkably similar.

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Like in archery as in other revered Far Eastern arts such as the tea ceremony or flower arrangement, photography should not be intended for utilitarian purposes only or for purely aesthetic  enjoyment, but as a means to train the mind; to bring it into contact with the ultimate reality.  Mindful photography therefore, should not be practiced solely for the goal of capturing the perfect image, or even as a means of becoming more visually attuned to our surroundings, just as the swordsman does not wield the sword just for the sake of outdoing his opponent.  As Herrigel points out, the mind has first to be attuned to the unconscious.

If one really wishes to become a master of mindful photography, technical understanding is not enough.  One has to transcend technique so that the art becomes an “artless art” growing out of the unconscious.

So what does this mean for the mindful photographer?  In Zenful terms, it means that the photographer and the process of image capture are no longer two opposing objects, but one reality.  The photographer ceases to be conscious of himself as the one who is engaging in the act of taking the picture.  This state of unconsciousness can only occur when, completely empty and rid of the self, he becomes one with the perfecting of his technical skill. As soon as we reflect, deliberate and conceptualize, the original unconsciousness is lost and thought interferes.

Man is a thinking reed, yet his great photographic works are done when he is not calculating and thinking. “Childlikeness” in vision has to be restored with long years of training in the art of self forgetfulness. When this is attained, man thinks yet he does not think; he presses the shutter with intent; yet he still is able to draw upon this action with intuition and spontaneity. He thinks like the tree sprouting forth from a seed; the wind blowing through a field; the water streaming over rocks; or the bird gracefully souring over treetops. Indeed, he becomes the tree, the wind, the water and the bird.

In photographic terms, we aim not to hit the tangible goal such as achieving perfect exposure or composition, but the spiritual one—one which requires us to essentially aim at ourselves.  To achieve this, one must be “pure” in heart and untroubled by subsidiary aims such as where to focus or what aperture to use.

To aim at oneself photographically speaking may be a difficult and intangible concept to grasp—for the goals of image capture are so plainly obvious. And no matter how Zen-like our approach, technical execution is still required—just as a race car driver must control the wheel, braking and acceleration when circling the track—or otherwise face injury and even death.

For in Zen, aiming at ourselves essentially means focusing on what our soul reflects, yet not on ourselves; to become simultaneously what our spirit projects and at the same time what we are looking at.  Eastern masters relate this to the archer who finds it necessary to, in spite of themselves, to become an unmoved center.  And in doing so, art becomes “artless.”

For photographers, capturing images becomes not-shooting; image capture without a camera; the master photographer a beginner; the end the beginning; and the beginning perfection.

The roots of mindful photography can be traced to Zen (Dhyana) Buddhism, where through methodical immersion in oneself leads to one becoming aware in the deepest grounds of their soul.  And through much practice, repetition and trial and error, the art of photography can move to the “artless arts.

These mystical exercises in no circumstances mean accomplishing anything outwardly with our camera, but only inwardly through ourselves. The act of using the camera and taking pictures therefore becomes a pretext for something that could just as well happen without us—and should be viewed as only the way to the goal, but not the goal itself.

Throughout his six years of archery training, Herrigel was constantly amazed at how Master Kenzo made the drawing of the stiff bow seem so effortless, so beautiful, so spiritual.  For Herrigel, the motions required tremendous effort. For like a camera, how is it possible that some photographers can take compelling images with so little effort; can see the masterpiece hiding within the tangled branches of a tree—yet others seem to struggle as if they had a different set of eyes?

If Master Kenzo were talking to us, he might explain that the key to letting go and relaxing can be found in the breathing; to slow the breath into a rhythm that allows it to gradually settle itself. If it is done properly, the seeing will become easier every day.  For through this relaxed breathing, you will discover the source of all spiritual strength, which will also cause this source to flow more abundantly, and to pour more easily through your limbs and eyes. The breathing binds and combines; by holding your breath you make everything go right; and the breathing out loosens and completes by overcoming all limitations.

So why then, are we still unable to relax to the point where the subject and composition reveal themselves to us?  As Master Kenzo explained to Herrigel, “That’s the problem, you’re making an effort to think about it.  Concentrate entirely on your breathing, as if you had nothing else to do.”  After much practice, the concept started to sink in for Herrigel.  He even personally reflected that, “I sometimes had the thought that I myself was not breathing but—strange as this may sound, being breathed.”

“You must hold the drawn bowstring like a child strongly gripping a mother’s finger,” said Master Kenzo to his pupil. “It grips it so firmly that one can only marvel at the strength of the tiny fist.  And when it lets the finger go to grab hold of something new, there is not the slightest jerk. Why?  Because the child does not think. The child does not think because it does this unconsciously, without purpose.”

If Master Kenzo were speaking to a photographer, he might say, “The right shot at the right time does not come because you do not let go of yourself. You do not wait for fulfillment, but brace yourself for failure. So long as that is so, you have no choice but to call forth something yourself that ought to happen independently of you. And so long as you call it forth, your finger will not depress the shutter at the decisive moment and your vision will be obscured.”

Still confused, Herrigel explained to Master Kenzo that ultimately, he draws the bow and lets go of the shot in order to hit the target.  The drawing is thus a means to an end, and therefore a connection Herrigel couldn’t readily ignore. Could a photographer not make the same argument when discussing the technical requirements necessary to take a picture?  For how is it possible to take a picture if there is not a conscious decision to press the shutter, or the technical intent required to achieve a certain creative outcome?

The “right art” is purposeless, aimless said Master Kenzo to his willing student.  The more obstinately you try and learn how to shoot the arrow for the sake of hitting the goal, the less you will succeed in the one, and the further the other will recede. What stands in your way is that you have too much willful will.  You think that what you do not do yourself does not happen. 

Still confused, Herrigel asked the Master for advice. “You must wait properly,” said Master Kenzo.  “The key is to let go of yourself, leaving yourself and everything yours behind you so decisively that nothing more is left of you but a purposeful tension.  If the shot is to be loosed right, the physical loosing must be continued by a mental and spiritual loosing, so as to make the mind not only agile, but free; agile because of its freedom; and free because of its original agility.”

The demand that the door to the senses be closed is not met by energetically turning away from the sensible world, but rather by a readiness to yield without resistance. In order that this action-less activity may be accomplished instinctively, the soul needs an inner hold, and it wins it by concentrating on the breathing.  The more one concentrates on the breathing, the more the external stimuli fade into the background.  The only successful way to render disturbances inoperative is to keep on breathing quietly, to enter into friendly relations with whatever you’re gazed on—whether a tree or a street scene.  If you do this correctly, the soul is brought to the point where it vibrates of itself into itself—a serene pulsation which can be likened to a rare dream—where one feels extraordinary lightness, and the rapturous certainty of being able to summon up creative energies in any direction.  Mindful photographer Minor White called this feeling “resonance.” 

In Dreams

This state, in which nothing definite is thought, planned, striven for, desired or expected, which aims in no particular direction and yet knows itself capable alike of the possible or impossible, so unswerving is its power—this state which is at bottom purposeless and egoless is called by masters as “spiritual.” It is charged with spiritual awareness and is also called “right presence of mind.”  The mind and spirit is present everywhere, because it is nowhere attached to any particular place.  And it can remain present because, even when related to this or that subject, it does not cling to it by reflection and thus lose its original mobility. This state is basically a primordial state, and its symbol, the empty circle of Zen, is not empty of meaning for him who stands within it.

Out of the fullness of this presence of mind, disturbed by no ulterior motive, the mindful photographer who is released from all attachment must practice the art.  But if he is to fit himself self-effacingly into the creative process, the practice of the art must have the way smoothed for it—so that the art becomes instinctive.  For this is the key to becoming a mindful photographer.

Practice, repetition, and repetition repeated with ever increasing intensity are necessary to find the way.  One cannot just pick up the camera and expect to take a compelling image—even if the technology practically takes the picture for us. One must learn how to speak the technical language of the camera, mastering foundational and artistic concepts such as depth of field, dynamic range, design, composition, lighting, exposure, behavioral nuances and more.

The first task therefore is to become a skilled photographic artisan with sovereign control over ones craft and camera; to grow more capable of following inspiration without technical effort.  Like a painter, the hand that guides the brush must catch and execute what floats before the mind at the same moment the mind began to form it—and in the end, the painter no longer knows which of the two is responsible for the work (the hand or the mind).

Sunk without purpose in what he is doing, the mindful photographer is brought face-to-face with that moment when the work, hovering before him in ideal gestures, moments, lines, shapes, colors, tones, textures, contrasts and light, realizes itself as if of its own accord.

The right frame of mind for the mindful photographer is only realized when the preparing and the creating; the technical and the artistic; the material and the spiritual; the project and the object; flow together without a break.

And once one finds photographic success, one has to be careful not to get stuck in the achievement, which is confirmed with success and magnified by renown. In other words, behaving as if the artistic existence were a form of life that bore witness to its own vitality.

This requires a state of true selflessness, in which the doer cannot be present any longer as “himself.”  Only the spirit is present; a kind of awareness that shows no trace of ego; a state in which the photographer, the art, the work are all one.

Like snow falling from a bamboo leaf, the shutter must be pressed at the point of highest visual tension (the decisive moment), before you even think it. But often, this does not happen because the photographer worries unnecessarily. Put the thought of finding the perfect shot right out of your mind. You can be a master even if every shot is not perfect.  Our best shots are only the outward proof and confirmation of our purposelessness at its highest, of our egolessness, our self abandonment. 

Herrigel still confused, asked the Master, “how is it possible to hit the target without aiming?”  To which the Master replied, “There are correspondences in nature that can’t be understood.  The spider dances her web without knowing that there are flies that will get caught in it.  The fly, dancing nonchalantly on a sunbeam, gets caught in the net without knowing what lies in store.  But they are both united in this dance.  So, too, the archer hits the target without having aimed—more I cannot say.”

It is not at least conceivable that after all your years of practiced photography, you involuntarily raise the camera with the certainty of a sleepwalker, so that, although you do not consciously take aim when depressing the shutter, you must achieve the perfect shot—you simply cannot fail to get it.

You already know that you should not grieve over bad shots; learn now not to rejoice over the good ones.  You must free yourself from the buffetings of pleasure and pain, and learn to rise above them in easy equanimity, to rejoice as though not you but another had pressed the shutter.  This too, you must practice unceasingly.

Camera, vision, goal and ego, all melt into one another, so that you can no longer separate them.  And even the need to separate has gone.  For as soon as you take the camera and aim, everything becomes so clear and straightforward and so ridiculously simple.

Ok, let me pull you back for a second.  Herrigel’s book also includes a passage from Zen Master Takuan, who wrote a piece called, “The Unmoved Understanding” where the connection between Zen and the art of swordsmanship were explored. It was translated by D.T. Suzuki.  Like with archery, there are many parallels and similarities to draw upon…

Among photographers, on the basis of their own and their pupils’ experience, it is taken as proved that the beginner, however driven and creative he is, and however confident he may be at the outset, loses not only his lack of self-consciousness, but his self-confidence, as soon as he starts taking lessons or learning more about the technical underpinnings of photography.

He gets to know all the technical possibilities by which he can envision and capture a photograph. And although he soon becomes capable of straining his attention to the utmost, of keeping a sharp watch on life unfolding before his eyes and other photographic possibilities at every turn, he is really worse off than before (when he would photograph at random under the inspiration of the moment and as his joy suggested).  He is now forced to admit that his mastery (or lack thereof) is at the mercy of everyone who is more creative, more technically versed, and more practiced than he.  So he sees no other option than to ceaselessly practice.  So the beginner photographer stakes everything on surpassing the others and even himself.  He acquires brilliant camera technique which gives him back some self confidence, and he thinks he is drawing closer to the desired goal—although the instructor thinks otherwise—since all the skill of the beginner only leads to his “heart being snatched away by the camera.”

Why does the pupil not become a master photographer despite his zeal and inborn skill?  Because the pupil cannot stop looking for the perfect shot; that he is always thinking how he can best come at any given scene technically, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal itself.  In short, he relies all the time on his art and knowledge.  By doing so, he loses his presence of heart.  The decisive moment or clear vision always comes too late.  The more he tries to make the brilliance of his camerawork dependent on his own reflection, on the conscious utilization of his skill, on his photographic experience and technique, the more he inhibits the “free” working of the heart.  He must learn to become purposeless and egoless, self-regardless.  He must be taught how to be detached not only from his environment and his camera, but from himself.  He must pass through the stage he is still at and leave it behind him for good, even at the risk of irretrievable failure.

The pupil must develop a new alertness for all his senses, which will enable him to move beyond looking into seeing. Once he has mastered this art of passive visual sensitivity and enhanced acuity, he no longer needs to watch with undivided attention the movements of nature and life unfolding before him; he no longer needs to be tethered to his camera and all his settings.  Rather, he sees and feels what is going to happen without there being “a hair’s breadth” between perceiving and acting.  This, then, is what counts: a lightning reaction which has no further need of conscious observation. 

Like archery, much patience, much heartbreaking photographic practice is needed.  But once this practice has led to the goal, the last trace of self-regard vanishes in sheer purposelessness.

What is true of archery and swordsmanship indubitably applies to photography and other arts. Thus, mastery in ink-painting is only attained when the hand, exercising perfect control over technique, executes what hovers before the mind’s eye at the same moment when the mind begins to form it, without there being a “hair’s breadth” between.  Painting then becomes spontaneous calligraphy.  Here again the painter’s instruction might be:  spend ten years observing bamboos, become a bamboo yourself, then forget everything—and paint.  Under the influence of Zen, his proficiency becomes spirit, and he himself, grown ever freer though spiritual struggle is transformed.  Looking at Zen through this lens, the camera becomes our soul—and photography truly embodies the concept of “painting with light.”

Lincoln Creek, CO

Every master who practices an art molded by Zen is like a flash of lightning from the cloud of all-encompassing truth.  This truth is present in the free movement of his spirit and in his nameless essence.

If he is irresistibly driven towards this goal, he must set out on his way again, take the road to the artless arts.  He must dare to leap into the origin. He must become a pupil again, a beginner; undergo a new transformation.  Only then, can he emerge reborn as the Mindful Master of Photography he has always aspired to become.

I cannot walk through the suburbs in the solitude of the night without thinking that the night pleases us because it suppresses idle details, just as our memory does.  ~Jorge Luis Borges

Nothing like a nighttime stroll to give you ideas.  ~J.K. Rowling, “The Egg and The Eye,” Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, 2000, spoken by the character Mad-Eye Moody

Learn to reverence night and to put away the vulgar fear of it, for, with the banishment of night from the experience of man, there vanishes as well a religious emotion, a poetic mood, which gives depth to the adventure of humanity.  ~Henry Beston

Moonlight is sculpture.  ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

O radiant Dark!  O darkly fostered ray!  Thou hast a joy too deep for shallow Day.  ~George Eliot, The Spanish Gypsy

Night is a world lit by itself.  ~Antonio Porchia, Voces, 1943, translated from Spanish by W.S. Merwin

There they stand, the innumerable stars, shining in order like a living hymn, written in light.  ~N.P. Willis

Night time is really the best time to work.  All the ideas are there to be yours because everyone else is asleep.  ~Catherine O’Hara

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I often think I was a Werewolf (with a camera) in another lifetime, because there is something about nocturnal photography that I find so intoxicating.  If photography is “writing with light,” then taking pictures at night is poetry.  For she is mysterious, evocative and so very alive.  And like poetry, what she doesn’t reveal to us often tells us more about her than what she does.  For the subtle truth of her humanity hides somewhere between the shadows and light.

Outer Banks Pier at Night

At night, the world reveals itself to us in a completely different light—both figuratively and literally.  Subjects that we may take for granted during the day, often come alive during the night.  For example, what we see as just a beetle during the day, transforms itself into a firefly at dusk—magically illuminating the night sky like pixie dust.  Is this still a bug we ask?   Or has it become a metaphor for something more?   For what nostalgic stories does the firefly tell of our childhood; of those timeless moments when life stood still; of frolicking in an open field on a sweet smelling July night as the warm breezes passed through us like electricity.  For what does the night tell us of ourselves; our dreams; our curiosities; our fears?

Cabin in the Woods

Whether by moonlight, streetlight, candlelight or even flashlight, there are infinite opportunities for interpretive storytelling when the sun goes down.  Like Minor White’s theory of Equivalence, nighttime often gives us a unique opportunity to express our innermost feelings in a way that yields specific suggestive powers that can direct viewers of our photographs into a specific and known feeling, state or place within themselves.  And if revelation of self is the raw material of art, then the night is our creative muse–inspiring us with its majestic and illuminating resonance; allowing us to become totally enraptured by the passage of the experience itself; opening us up to the truth of the moment.

Canyon Moon at Artists Point (Yellowstone)

For those of you who take a more mindful approach to your photography, nocturnal photography truly embodies the Zen Aesthetic, which is wabi, sabi, aware and yugen.

Wabi is a sense of solitude or tranquility–and in some cases deprivation, loneliness and quiet sadness.  At night, don’t we sometimes feel more detached, alone or vulnerable when we don’t have the comforts of the passing day to distract us? And sometimes, the night brings us a sense of quiet contemplation in which to reflect.

Firefly Lounge

Sabi is the suchness of ordinary objects, the unmistakable uniqueness and simplicity of a thing in and of itself.  Like a black and white photograph, does the night not focus our attention on the very quintessence of the thing were are looking at?  For even a small light can be seen from miles away in darkness.

Aware is a feeling of nostalgia, a longing for the past.  For like the passing of the seasons, the night reminds us of the fleeting nature of our own existence.

Yugen is mystery, the hidden layers of reality.  For what is so obvious during the day, becomes even less so when cloaked in darkness.  Even the word “mystical” means, “neither apparent to the senses nor obvious to the intelligence; beyond ordinary understanding; in communion with the ultimate reality or spiritual truth that transcends human understanding.”

Candy Apples

As photographer sages, we hold the power within ourselves to reveal the mysteries of the night that often lie hidden under the banal surface of ordinary existence.  To hone this, we must maintain complete and open receptiveness to the world around us with our whole being; embracing the flow of the night without judgment or discrimination as it spontaneously unfolds before our eyes.

Maybe it’s the shadowy silhouette of a tree theatrically cast against the side of an old building; branches outstretched like human arms.  Or maybe it reveals itself looking through the dirty window of a diner at 2am as an old man slowly and purposefully sips on a hot cup of coffee.  Maybe it’s that ornate lamp enveloped in soft warm light that is peering out onto the street from an open second floor window, or the reflection from a neon sign in a puddle.  For some, it’s the interesting geometric shapes and forms all around them.  For others, it’s the graceful streaks of starlight painted against a darkened sky with the faint hint of a distant glowing city on the horizon.

Gordon's Wine Bar (London, England)

For shooting during the day is only one half of life’s equation.  If photography is an extension of who we are, then aren’t we denying ourselves when we put our cameras away as the sun goes down?  For the night is filled with so much wonderment and adventure–and a visual treasure trove just waiting to be discovered by the werewolf in us all.

Addendum: So, what would any blog posting about night photography be without some good practical tips to get you started?  Here are 21 to chew on, arooooooooooooooo:

1. Be safe.  Bring a friend or two.  Don’t travel into questionable areas (especially under a full moon, lol).  Take a cell phone.  Dress accordingly.  Shoot on a full stomach.
2. A steady tripod is absolutely necessary unless you plan on shooting at ISO 1600 wide open using a fast lens.
3. Try to avoid shooting on a windy night to avoid long exposure tripod shake.  Turn off lens VR when using on a tripod.
4. If your camera has it, shoot at the highest bit rate possible (e.g. 14 bit).  You won’t need frames per second (FPS) speed at night.  Shoot using NEF/Raw if you have familiarity with this file format.  More data gives you more editing flexibility, and ultimately better quality images.
5. While base white balance settings can sometimes be adjusted in post processing, it’s always a good idea to take a few pictures at different settings to see what look you get (and want).  Often, I will shoot using Sunny or Tungsten, unless the prevailing lighting is specifically different, such as fluorescent or incandescent, for example.  Many scenes contain mixed lighting.
6. Cable or remote shutter release is recommended.  If you do use a remote shutter release, radio controlled versus infrared line-of-sight is preferred.  Use mirror lock up if you have it.  Use self timer when all else fails.
7. Similar to day shooting, use the lowest ISO you can get away with. It’s all a trade off.  If a low ISO is going to result in an unusually long shutter time, you can consider boosting it, although more noise is always associated with higher ISOs.  Low ISO night shots can look remarkably sharp.  On the flipside, noise can add a certain grittiness and mood.
8. If your camera has it, focus using Live View.  If shooting a landscape-type image, try and find a distant object to focus on (use digital zoom to fine tune).  Once focus has been achieved, switch camera and/or lens to manual focus so that the camera’s autofocus does not hunt in the dark.  A bright flashlight can always be used to help achieve focus in closer proximity scenes (e.g. shine it on a close tree line, for example).
9. Regarding flashlights, I have one that also includes a red filter.  These are great, because you’ll be able to adjust settings without hurting your night vision.  Flashlights are fun for night painting too.  In a long exposure, try painting an object the last few seconds of your exposure.  Adjust timing as necessary.
10. If shooting distant scenes with no reference focus point, you’ll have to manually set the lens to infinity focus (using the lens markings).  Infinity focus does not always ensure perfect focus (sometimes perfect focus is slightly before and/or after the infinity mark, rather than right in the middle).  Try this during the day and see where the perfect focus mark ends up.
11. The rules of aperture are mostly similar to day photography.  If shooting a landscape scene, around F/11-F/16 is always a good place to start for good depth of field, although you may have to open up your aperture wider if the corresponding shutter time is too long.  If shooting using a short focal length/wide-angle lens, you can get away with shooting real wide open because the depth of field is naturally deeper.  If you’re looking for the starburst effect, F/19-F/22 works great, although there’s always the risk of blown highlights.  There really is no perfect aperture, as it depends entirely on what you’re shooting, your focal length/lens, and your goals.
12. Use a lens hood to reduce extraneous light lens flare.  I would ditch the UV and/or clear protective filter too to minimize potential flare issues.
13. People in your night shot?  No worries.  While you may not be able to freeze them in action, the longer shutter speeds will either make them disappear altogether, or will turn them into ghosts—which can add a lot of drama.  Adjust aperture to get the movement effect you’re seeking.
14. High ISO Noise Reduction.  I keep my Nikon D300 on low.  Usually this feature does not kick in until ISO 800.  Often, my ISO 800 shots look better than my ISO 400 shots for this reason, although in-camera NR can overly smooth out fine details.  Most of the time I’m shooting at ISO 100 or 200, so high ISO NR is not a factor.  Having it set to low allows me to conservatively add any additional NR during post processing.
15. Long Exposure Noise Reduction (sometimes called dark frame subtraction).  The camera will take an additional identical exposure with the shutter closed and will subtract out the dark frame image. This basically is meant to eliminate hot pixels and other artifacts (but not noise).  In my experience, I haven’t found this to be particularly useful.  And having to wait double your exposure time can be a pain.
16. Sometimes the best night images happen at dusk (as twilight changes to night), when the darkening night sky is nicely balanced with the foreground—and there’s still enough light left to provide some foreground and rich sky detail.  Extremely dark nights can sometimes be a challenge.
17. Consider bracketing, especially if you’re interested in an HDR composite.  Bracketing allows you to cover all of your exposure bases–substantially increasing your likelihood of nailing the perfect shot.
18. Compositionally, look for interesting lines, reflections, shapes, forms, shadows, colors, tones, rhythm, etc.  Watch how your photo is balanced—as overly dark areas in a photo create negative space, and you’ll need some brighter parts in the image to balance things out.  But most important, look for sublime and magical light to capture.
19. Watch for highlight blowouts.  Use your histogram.  Because you’ll be shooting at night, it will inevitably lean to the left (towards shadows).  Some highlight blowouts may be unavoidable depending upon what you’re shooting.  This is ok so long as they don’t dominate the scene.  On a similar note, underexposing the scene too much can pull in noise.
20. If you’re serious about night photography, check out one of my favorite expert websites (The Nocturnes):  http://www.thenocturnes.com/resources.html.  You’ll find some illuminating resources on this comprehensive website.
21. OK, I should have ended at 20, but 21 is a lucky number.  Lastly and most important, have fun!  Turn off the damn TV and computer and get your butt off the couch.  CSI or Amazing Race can wait.  Facebook and Twitter can wait.  You’ve got some cool night pictures to take!

Arcade Row

Photographers can learn a lot from this old nursery rhyme, originally told to children to try and teach them the virtue of being quiet.  For like the sage Owl who watches and patiently waits when hunting his prey, we too must learn how to quiet the voices in our heads.  Only then, are we able to truly hear and feel the pulse of the magnificent landscape around us.  And in doing so, we become more receptive to seeing–allowing our intuition, sensitivity and visual acuity to take over.

For how is it possible to see when we’re constantly having internal dialogue with ourselves?  As thinking creatures, we spend our waking lives dissecting the world around us, trying to fit our experiences into neat little boxes in our heads. We dwell on the past thinking about the mistakes we’ve made; we obsess about the future thinking about things that haven’t even happened yet;  and we waste precious creative energies analyzing, judging, classifying, evaluating, interpreting, labeling, expecting, comparing, intellectualizing, and trying to live up to.

If photography is a conversation with nature, then we are constantly interrupting; completing nature’s sentence before she has had a chance to finish her thought.  Are we fools for assuming that we really know what she’s thinking?   If we’re too busy talking, we only hear the chatter and static of our own thoughts.  And when we do this, the truth revealed in a moment is often hidden—and we become reactive rather than receptive.

If you’re reading this, you’re probably like me when it comes to photography…on the clock.  I wish I had the time and financial resources to spend weeks at a time in the field getting in touch with my inner Owl.  But often, my photography trips are whirlwinds—consisting of a few days here and a few days there.  When we go on vacation, it often takes us a couple of days to fully decompress before we melt into the flow of things.  In photography, we usually don’t have this luxury—as we place a huge burden on ourselves to produce something compelling within a very limited time frame (before we are forced to return to our daily lives).  And this is further complicated by the fact that shooting conditions never seem to fully cooperate with our intended schedules, providing us with even fewer decisive moments in which to capture something special.

So what do we do?  We race around frantically trying to find meaningful pictures to take—as if something breathtaking is going to magically materialize before our eyes.   We dash out of our vehicles like they are on fire; immediately set up our tripods in the first decent spot we find; and start feverishly snapping away as if we only have an hour left before we’re going to lose our vision.  Nature is our candy store, yet we almost always grab the first candy bar in front of us, rather than allowing the perfect confection to find us.  Like the Owl hunting its prey, we too can learn to become intuitive master hunters by harnessing the power of patience, observation and self-forgetfulness.   If we look too hard to find the field mouse, we will almost always fail to see it moving through the dense brush.  

Learning to photograph like the wise old Owl means that in order for us to realize our creative goals and to truly see, we must essentially give up on our attempt to reach it.  To paraphrase an ancient Tao saying as it relates to photography, “There is no technique one can use to see, because every method implies a goal.  And we cannot make seeing a goal any more than we can aim an arrow at itself.”   To do this, we must give up on our desire to always know, focusing instead on the direct experience itself.  We must free our minds from our daily entanglements, engaging the world around us with a childlike awareness—actively sensing and receptive, but at the same time free and untethered…much like the wise old Owl.

Photo Addendum:  the following two pictures were taken a few weeks ago when I accompanied a client to West Virginia for a private one-on-one photo tour.   The first was taken at Pipestem Falls in Summer County, WV.   A larger version can be found here:  http://www.danielstainer.com/Other/New-Additions/3404935_ZGvaL#870706868_oYhbJ

The second is of an abandoned railroad ghost town located in Thurmond, WV.   A larger version can be found here:  http://www.danielstainer.com/Other/New-Additions/3404935_ZGvaL#912382118_6k6G6

Zen of Turtle

Railroad Ghost Town

Spiritual Tree (Outer Banks, NC)

Hundred hands reaching

into the vast universe

Of sand and lost time

Ice Cave

Silence and beauty

Cold water transparency

Vision awakens

Is it possible to photographically express oneself through words?  

I think we can come close with the Haiku.  

For within the Haiku, we must compose, contain and feel–just as we do with our photographs. 


Reverberate 

Thunderous sky booms 

Smell of electricity 

Warm rain blows sideways


Misty Moment 

Dark forest creaking 

Sweet pine cuts through the dense fog 

The chipmunk scurries


Lone Canyon 

Lone canyon blue moon 

Shadows dancing like a moth 

Against jagged rocks


Bear Tracks 

Swirling red leaves flow 

Dawn’s mist rises from the creek 

Bear tracks in the mud


Reflect 

Through the lens I see 

A reflection of myself 

Essence of the tree