Of course, you need a camera… right?! It’s right there in the name: from the Greek roots φωτός (phōtos) meaning "light" and γραφή (graphé) "drawing" together meaning "drawing with light." You must have some tool to do this. You cannot do it with your hands alone. This is obvious, so why the provocative title?
Bear with me, but I could argue that in a sense, isn’t this what our eyes are doing anyway? They take in light, and in our mind’s eye, in the perception space of our consciousness, an image forms. It may be virtual in some sense, and accessible only to ourselves, but it is an image, nonetheless.
Shooting through a car on a rainy evening in Shinjuku.
So, what? I believe that the act of photography begins at this stage, at the moment of conscious awareness, physical seeing, and mental perception. As photographers, we must take this fundamental step while the act of clicking the shutter button is secondary. It is a means by which we can preserve the mental image, and share it with others, including our future selves, in a way that is ‘objective’ and no longer in a state of flux, or transformation.
As I write these words, I know it sounds like an English major over-analyzing something so basic and obvious (I happened to have majored in English, so I spent a few years doing this). But I believe acknowledging this idea is an important element—a mantra—which helps me maintain sight of what actually matters in my creative pursuit in the realm of photography. It’s not about the camera. The camera is just a tool—completely arbitrary—a necessary evil that exists only as a means to get what I am really after: honest perception, truth in an image, self-discovery.
I could ‘see’ this scene in my mind’s eye before choosing a telephoto lens to shoot it.
Obsessed with the way objects wrap themselves onto the curved surfaces of cars, especially light.
Photography happens in the mind and the eye and the world. The best camera is the one that gets out of the way of my creativity. If I could capture and preserve images that are timeless and objective without the aid of a camera, I would do so! If I could beam images straight from my brain onto a synthetic substrate for all to see, I would not hesitate to ditch the camera.
Don’t get me wrong, I admit I do like using my camera gear. It feels nice in my hands. The loud clack of the shutter is as satisfying as ice cracking beneath footsteps on a cold winter day, or the crunch of dry leaves in the autumn. The heft and weight of the camera in my hands gives a sense of realness to the whole enterprise. The viewfinder is like a window into another world. And I take pleasure in knowing my gear inside and out, the way a hunter knows her rifle, or a sea captain knows his vessel.
But I have to remind myself sometimes that these earthly pleasures are not why I picked up the camera in the first place. I should not fetishize the gear. The gear is only that—a tool, a means, a vehicle. The goal is to see, to perceive, and to discover the world and the self through the act of photography.
An example of something you cannot see until the photo is taken: droplets on the lens. However, knowing about this effect, I was still able to visualize the photo before taking it.
So, I find myself sometimes without a camera, walking through the city. And I happened upon a scene, mundane at first glance, and ignored by everyone on the street. It may be a sliver of sunlight landing just so on the pavement, or pipes snaking their way up the side of a building, or neon light dancing in a puddle on black asphalt. It captivates me, and I stand there transfixed for some moments, forgetting where I was going or that I’m running late. I take in the sight. I look with my entire being, my mind empty of other distractions. In a state of mindfulness, I accept the reality of what I have discovered on the street, and the truth of my own unique perception of such a fleeting scene.
Spaces like this attract me, with or without a camera in my hands.
Had I camera in my hands, there would be a few more steps take: the settings, the exact framing, the focus, the subsequent edit, and perhaps even showing the work to another person, so they could take part in my particular vision. But all of those things are secondary to that first act of seeing, perceiving, and accepting.
I keep these thoughts close to me, and I share them here now, as pretentious as they sound, because they guide me through a world of distractions and misguided values. Photography is in a way plagued by a constant need to get the latest gear, an endless discussion of the best camera, the sharpest lens, the coolest presets for Lightroom. What settings did you use? What lens was that? What camera do you recommend?
And I understand the desire for these things, for technical knowledge and understanding of the craft of photography. People want to know how was it done? How can I do it? But it is important not to lose sight of the why—because I want to see the universe. Experience it. That is photography.