Today is the winter solstice in the northern hemisphere–when the sun is at is maximum tilt away from the sun. It’s the shortest day of the year, and the longest night. There are many festivals and rituals all around the world to celebrate the solstice. Stonehenge comes to mind. My favourite is in Japan, where there is a custom to soak oneself in the yuzu (citrus fruit) hot bath.
It’s a good time of year to go out for a walk and enjoy the changing of the season. And if you’re like me, you’ll end up taking a few photos along the way.
Photographers are drawn to light like moths to a flame. It’s the key ingredient in many good photos. This photo shows my favourite type–bright winter light overhead, illuminating wet pavement. I love the silver glow and the high contrast–it looks great in black and white.
The photo is taken in the style of American photographer Lee Friedlander who welcomes foreground obstructions such as poles and trees as a way of creating visual interest. He explains, “Somebody else could walk two feet away to get those poles and tress and other stuff out of the way, I almost walk two feet to get into it, because it is a part of the game that I play. It isn’t even conscious; I probably just drift into it… its like a found pleasure. You’ve found something that you like and you play with it for the rest of your life.”
Friedlander also loves sunlight so much that he often doesn’t shoot outside on overcast days; he doesn’t want to take lifeless photos. As for me, I welcome all kinds of lighting conditions but am always on the lookout for my favourite light.
You Can Always Make a Note and Wait Till Next year (Day 27 of 31)
Some photos are dependent on the rhythm of the year and the movement of the sun, and sometimes you have to wait until the next year to get the shot you want.
For example, one photo I’ve taken again and again through the years is when the sun is overhead and shining on wet pavement. It’s that hard light that makes the road look white. (Over time I’ve learned where I might be able to take one of these photos in different places near where I live. In winter, for instance, it’s King Street in a town nearby.) To get a photo that looks the way I want, I have to be in the right place at the right time of year.
Some of these pictures you’re going to miss more often than you get them. With my wet-road pictures, rain, or road salt, is the critical factor, and the sun has to be out while the pavement is still wet. Like the ancient worshippers at Stonehenge, sometimes you’ll have weather that disappoints you; other times you’ll be working, or out of town, or at a child’s holiday concert. The best we can do at those times is make a note—actually write it on your upcoming calendar, so you’ll remember—and wait until next year.
(For the month of October 2017, I’m participating in the 31 Days bloggers’ challenge. You can find out about it here, and check out the interesting work other bloggers are posting.)
Fall light is magic. More people claim fall as their favourite time of year than any other season, and the way the world looks is a big part of that. The vivid colours and changing leaves we associate with this time of year give us a jolt of energy, and the freshness in the air makes us eager to start new projects.
Meteorologists tell us there are two reasons fall light is so special. One is that the sun is hitting the earth at a lower angle, which changes the quality of the light we see. The other reason is that, in most places, fall is a time of lower humidity than summer. The air looks so crisp and the sky so achingly blue because an invisible haze has been stripped from the world around us. You are, literally, seeing everything more clearly at this time of year.
The opportunities offered for photography are generous. In most areas you can still dash outside with just a jacket; you don’t have to deal yet with boots and hats and bundling your kids up in snow pants. If you need an incentive to get outside and snap a few shots, remind yourself that this is, for most of us, a brief season.
It’s a good time to get landscape photos—leaves, dew on grass, afternoon shadows. Tree branches, too, tend to show up well in the crisp light of these days. Even if you can fit it in only once or twice, strolling around and taking some photos in the autumn air is guaranteed to be rewarding.
(For the month of October 2017, I’m participating in the 31 Days bloggers’ challenge. You can find out about it here, and check out the interesting work other bloggers are posting.)
George Eastman, founder of Eastman Kodak Company, once said, “Embrace light. Admire it. Love it. But above all, know light. Know it for all you are worth, and you will know the key to photography.” Light, along with time, is a key ingredient in the photographic process.
Many photos posted on social media seem bland–they may have interesting subject matter and location, good colour, even a good moment, but what they often lack is good lighting. I have heard that Lee Friedlander chose not to shoot on overcast days because he didn’t want to take lifeless photos.
The photo at the top of this blog was taken in Halifax, Nova Scotia, in 1980 –my early days in photography. It shows a certain type of high-contrast light that I was photographing that day for, as far as I can remember, the very first time: sunlight, directly overhead, shining on pavement. The effect is even more pronounced if the pavement is wet. This lighting situation is great for silhouettes and good for isolating people and cars and seems to work best in black and white. Any time I see this king of light, I’m eager to capture it. (Yes, thirty-five years later.)
For me, then, this is a well of inspiration that never dries up. I go back to this high-contrast light again and again, always stopping to get my camera out, always pulling over to the side of the road and standing on the line down the middle, checking over my shoulder for cars coming. How is it that something can so capture our imagination that we never tire of it?
I think it’s partly that photography, even when it’s pretty much taking the same photo for the hundredth time (as my family likes to remind me) has an always-fresh quality. This photo is, by definition, not quite like all the other photos, no matter how similar they may be. For the person holding the camera, and later looking at the image with attention, the details add up to something wholly different. The balance, the atmosphere evoked, the contrast, the mood of the moment–these are all going to vary.
Moreover, for the photographer, there can be great satisfaction in dealing with the learning curve. This is essentially a private endeavor; that’s why my family isn’t really able to appreciate it when I stop the car. Sure, if I show my wife a photo I took as a student side-by-side with one I took last week, she can observe, “You’ve really improved.” But the incremental changes, the tiny little notches of achievement or refinement in being able to capture what I’m seeing, are perceptible only to me.
Photography is a way to share your vision, but it’s also an individual journey. No one else is on it with you, or not in quite the same way. It’s important for us to honour where we are in terms of what we’re discovering for ourselves over the years.
Light is a key part of every photo we take. The hard, brilliant light on a wet pavement is for me, for some reason, one of life’s great joys. It fills me with happiness to see these black-and-silver vistas stretching in front of me. I think I would reach for my camera in my sleep, confronted with such a scene.
Whatever impels you to reach for your camera again and again, it’s worth paying attention to why you’re drawn to it, how you’re photographing it, and how your photographic eye for the subject you love is improving over time.
