An ode to my small notebook
One year ago, I began jotting down notes while spending time in nature. Since that time, what started as a creative experiment of sorts has evolved into an fairly important part of both my mindfulness practice and journey of self discovery through photography.
My notebook lives inside my hiking backpack - not with my camera, necessarily, because it comes with me even when I am in no mood to make photos. From the start, I have kept my notebooks divided into halves.
On the left-hand side, I simply take down observations. I stop hiking and find a place to sit, look around, and take down the things I see and feel. Most anything I can experience in the moment has a place here: plants, insects, animals, leaves, trees. Emotions are also recorded, no matter how superficial or profound. If I’m troubled about something specific or seem to carry a broader underlying malaise, for example, I mention it. Of course, positive feelings are considered noteworthy, and I also do my best to form the words to describe the confusing ones. There are certainly plenty of those any given day.
The writing can be done at a location I’ve visited many times before, or anywhere that feels inspiring to me. What inspires can be a specific thing or a broad, prevailing sense of “rightness”. The process is nothing complicated whatsoever, and that’s the point. I try less to consider the how, what or when as much as the why. The goal is to get into a frame of mind that is receptive and open to possibility.
One of my favorite sitting spots where I sometimes make coffee and lunch, observe as much as possible, and write down what I experience.
Looking deeper, I also record the “behavior” of my surroundings: how the breeze pushes and pulls branches and leaves together and apart, or how butterflies flit about. This Spring, the pervasive sound of cicadas has found its way onto my pages at least half a dozen times. I might also recall something irksome someone said a few days before, for example, or how wonderfully complete I feel after spending time with my brother and his family.
By writing this way, the first half of the journal encourages me to slow down and engage with the here and now. It gets me “out of my own way” by redirecting attention to the present. This allows my feelings become like things that can be labeled and observed, rather than judged and felt acutely. It feels nice to allow negative feelings to be put into perspective so that positive ones can rise to the top.
This also helps me to quiet my ego, if only for a few important moments. Forgetting myself and my concerns is a prerequisite for the non-judgmental, non-discriminatory state of mind I aspire toward while doing deep creative work in nature. Such work is at times photography, but more often takes the simpler form of simply immersing myself to better appreciate the natural world.
Curtain Call, 3/31/24
The right-hand side of my notebook, alternatively, belongs to the ideas, illuminations, and realizations that I occasionally come up with. They do not necessarily correlate to my aforementioned observations of things and emotions, but I believe they are equally valuable in a different way.
Ideas aren’t forced into being - I don’t sit and try to make them happen - so this side sees a lot less action than the first half. They must come to me organically and deserve to be written down.
When the inklings eventually emerge, putting them to paper is instrumental in helping me to distill the mental spikes that sporadically arise. Some of my best ideas have come from these pages. For example, this is where I have crystalized some of my opinions on the role of art in mental health (i.e. the importance of forming healthy habits surrounding creativity and nature) and even new ruminations on spirituality and religion. This is also the place where I cheer myself on when I’m feeling low or uninspired.
The second half can incorporate opinions, judgements and proclivities. It acknowledges that, despite the pursuit of setting emotions aside to be observed separately, I am still human and capable of forming opinions based on my earned knowledge and experiences. It is more subjective, where the first half strives to be objective.
It’s wild in there, with plenty of streams-of-thought and random, incomplete ideas. Most of it is a mess, but sometimes good things spring from it.
In addition to serving my creativity in the field, the notebooks are also valuable for future use. Ideas for photograph names or themes, projects, business ideas, and even essays I’ve submitted this year have been based on notebook entries written weeks or months prior.
By noting the location, date and time, I can also look back to the context of the specific hike, as well as to my life overall, at the time the entry was recorded. I find it enriching to remember what I was going through in life at the time an observation was made, an idea formed, or an image created. There is an organic, harmonious circuity to this reflection upon reflections.
Movie Magic, 5/4/24
Also, I believe there is considerable value in the physical act of writing itself. Using a pen on a physical sheet of paper is nearly a lost practice in this digital age, and to me that is a shame. I enjoy the relaxing, tactile experience of handwriting despite cursing the practice as a grade school student so many years ago. I have come to appreciate the elegant craftsmanship involved.
For me, writing in this unrestricted way has become a form of meditation, or at least a nice supplement to mindfulness. Even if the words are nonsensical, my mind is fully invested in forming at least somewhat coherent reflections of my internal state and external vision. Nothing outside can influence or distract, and no words are prone to judgement.
After writing, I will often continue sitting for a few more minutes as I keep observing both my physical surroundings and my thoughts and feelings as they appear and subside. Writing has put me into a receptive state of mind.
If I feel inclined and have noticed scenes that inspire, I will begin wandering. Sometimes, I will use a framing tool to see what I can see, and more often than not I find something that calls out. I may have noticed it before I sat down, while I was writing, or it may be something completely new. It is as though a filter has been removed and its beauty or significance has revealed itself.
Finally, feeling relaxed and open to possibility, my camera can now morph into an extension of my mind as I carefully consider and compose an image. If the light is too harsh for the composition I would like to make, but I know clouds will eventually soften it, it is no problem to wait until the right moment to release the shutter. Everything in nature gets done on its own slow, but certain, schedule - and I am here for it.
Lighting and atmosphere are not always ideal, as any landscape photographer will attest, and quite often neither is my state of mind. Regardless, I sometimes make the photograph anyway because I still value the scene. There is no point in wrestling myself, or the scene, into an ideal state, but it did call out to me and I know I can return whenever nature and my mind and heart eventually align.
There are no “bad” or “good” photographs - only ones that feel right or slightly less right in the moment. Of course, sketch images can play a practical role on future visits, but the act of creating the work produces meaningful connection to nature and self.
It is this process of sketching and eventually creating something special, typically in an improved state of receptivity, that fulfills and satisfies my mind and spirit in ways that very little else can.
Writing and photography continue to coexist in a natural, easy way. This blog has been a fun supplement for a few years, and I have even managed to produce a couple of essays that are expected be published sometime this year (a first for me!).
However, carrying my small notebook into the woods has proven to be an even better way to reflect on my connection to nature and myself. I believe the habit has not only helped my creativity, but has resulted in deeper emotional perspective and contemplative engagement while in the field. It has indeed helped my photography to continue growing and evolving in lockstep with my own emotional development, while simultaneously charting my story as one participant in the grand story of nature.
