Acknowledging the rift
“Nobody can bring you peace but yourself.”
Yesterday I went out for a short mid-week hike just to stretch my legs and get some air in my lungs, and I had a hankering to visit a familiar wooded patch about an hour from my house. It’s a place I return to often because of its solitude, lack of distractions and natural beauty. I go there to simultaneously collect my thoughts and clear my mind, with no photographic goal in mind. Still, I usually take my camera out of an ingrained desire to make photos of things I find appealing.
The trails are not well-maintained like they are in the many state parks in Tennessee, and there are no amenities. Sometimes, what starts as a trail quickly vanishes as foliage closes in, and before you know it you’re in the middle of the woods with no footpath in sight. It’s as close to “wild” as any place can be in the Southeast, and I absolutely love it.
At the top of one of the trails I sometimes follow there is a small meadow where I stop to take things in. Here, I’ll sometimes write or draw in a small notebook, noting things such as the position of the sun, speed of the wind, the presence and movement of clouds, what my thoughts are doing and how I’m feeling. Yesterday, this small field was chock full of bright yellow goldenrod and purple ironweed; in fact, I’d never seen so many wildflowers in this location.
After taking in the bright colors, I began noticing hundreds of butterflies flitting between all of the flowers around me. It was truly a sight. I had seen butterflies in this area before, but only a handful here and there. The sheer quantity was truly special, and the bright sun allowed all of the colors to combine and glow in an intense living patchwork.
I laid my bag on the ground and stood a while watching the little winged creatures busy at work pollinating and dancing playfully in the open meadow.
A cell phone photo of one of the many Eastern Tiger Swallowtails enjoying the sunny afternoon. There were also hundreds of other types of butterflies present, such as the Spicebush Swallowtail and Red-Spotted Admiral.
I was very tempted to pull my camera out to make images of the little creatures. However, before long, the urge to photograph faded and then ultimately disappeared. For a moment anyway, it was good enough to sit in the presence of the small insects and watch their interesting behavior. My mind wandered to many places and wondered lots of interesting, strange things. How long can they work like this in the hot sun? Do they know each other? What is their lifespan? How do they communicate? Do they care that I’m watching them?
Was it OK, for once, to let nature steer my thoughts for a spell rather than succumb to the urge to make images?
After a while, one Swallowtail allowed me to get very close, so I managed to observe it’s amazing colors in detail. Using my cell phone, I took a few photos of it from different angles. These were quick snapshots, not carefully composed, expressive images that I usually strive to make. I enjoyed how this butterfly’s blue and orange speckles allowed sunlight to pour through its wings, revealing marvelous color and contrast that resembled stained glass. All the while, my big camera remained zipped away in my backpack.
Stubbornly, my mind couldn’t help but return to composing images as two larger butterflies sat together on an elegant stem of ironweed. The photographer in me was drawn to its singular cluster of purple flowers, the two butterflies sitting like old friends on top of it, and the vibrant patterns of yellow and purple in the background. A wildlife photographer would have loved the opportunity. However, as soon as I framed the scene in my mind the butterflies flew away.
I went back and forth like this a few more times, allowing myself to become excited by a composition and then quickly feeling frustrated when it inevitably disappeared. “What’s the point?” I said to myself, and then got back to standing and watching. The self-imposed pressure to photograph evaporated again as my eyes tracked even more species of butterfly, some very small and some quite large, in addition to bumble bees, hornets and a couple small birds. I was captivated by the bustling city of Summer color before me.
Acknowledging the rift
Eventually, the thought occurred to me photography can certainly create a rift between me and what I love. Yes, it is a very useful tool for connecting to a subject, but had I spent any significant amount of time struggling to photograph the butterflies, the moment would have lost its special meaning. I would have become frustrated by their inability to sit still, my incompetence as a wildlife photographer, the high contrast caused by harsh sunlight, or the movement in the flowers caused by a gentle breeze.
Therefore, I am glad I made the decision to make only snapshots with my phone and simply observe the beings in their natural habitat. Photography, at least in the way that I do it, almost certainly would have ruined the moment for me. Rather than make repeated sub-par images, likely trampling many flowers in the process, I found peace and calm by staying still.
I think it’s important to remember why we photograph. Sure, we might love the gear, the myriad technical aspects which I still enjoy reading about (and sometimes fantasize about owning) myself. We might even admit to enjoying fleeting validation from certain audiences, such as those found online, when superficial complements find their way to our screens. Or, in the best of scenarios, we may find ourselves addicted to feelings of creative “flow” as we lose ourselves in the process of making art.
Counterintuitively, in my opinion, the very act of photography can sometimes stand in the way of our appreciation of the subject. I think we need to remember to sometimes sit with the things that gives us vitality, take them in, and simply absorb the magic they exude and the lessons they impart. If that means ignoring the camera for a few minutes, so be it.
Our society all but demands us to fit in and keep up, please as many people as possible, achieve ever-increasing and unobtainable productivity goals. We are held to absurd standards in many aspects of life. In the eyes of society, we must all be trained to please shareholders and are taught from a young age to fit the most profitable molds for corporate benefit. We enter this life with inherent curiosity and desire to make art, only to have our creativity squashed by elders who have grown jaded and tired from years of racing to the so-called “top”.
It can be difficult to do, but in my experience resisting the pressure to always create can often put me back in the right mindset. I’ve learned that choosing not to create can serve as an act of rebellion against my inner “corporate boss” that pleads, threatens even, for me to get back to work. Leaving my camera in the bag is not just OK to do sometimes, it can also be necessary for me to reconnect with a place and find renewed love for it, thereby motivating me and inspiring me to make something more meaningful in the future. Not to mention, living creatively requires me to take a mental breath every once in a while and let my subconscious recharge.
After about an hour of watching the tiny creatures go about their business, the call of nature struck so I grabbed my backpack and decided to continue hiking. Whatever “pressure” I had brought with me into the wild had completely disappeared, and I felt a renewed sense of connection to a place I hold dear.
It wasn’t the photography or any kind of jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring scene; no special light or picture-perfectness that made the time special. Instead, it was a simple decision to take time to chill out, ignore the thing I often think I “have to do” (photograph), and simply let my mind wander aimlessly in the most basic appreciation of nature’s smallest gifts.
Appreciating the inner dialogue
Light on my feet, I walked on as my mind felt reopened. Three hours later, as the late afternoon sunlight began softening all around me, I encountered a scene that struck me: a fallen tree split at the stump where exposed deadwood zigged and zagged with abundant texture. Striations of various colors ran diagonally in mesmerizing repetition. I was immediately drawn to an interesting “rift” which ran counter to the striations, dividing the scene.
Rift, 8/17/23
As I positioned my camera, I thought about the mental struggles we all face - some imposed on us by society, and some we create for ourselves. Indeed, this divide is a hallmark of human consciousness, and my inner dialogue among the butterflies earlier in the day served as the perfect reminder. Mental rifts are a fact of life, and I surmise they can be even more poignant, even painful, for those who create.
It pays to recognize these rifts when they begin stirring up mental trouble, such as creative frustration and blocks. As tough as they can feel to navigate, it’s important to spend time with and appreciate them, and ultimately learn from them. My creativity and motivation are always better for it, and I firmly believe this type of meditation is yet another way nature continues to ground and teach as my creative journey continues.
