As I wrote in my last post about turning my camera upward to trees to shift my usual point of view, I’ve made an intentional effort to widen my lens and embrace new perspectives this year.
I can feel at the very core of my being that this is what we are all being called to do to meet this moment in history.
We can practice perspective shifts in so many ways — in conversation with others by putting ourselves in their shoes; in our inner narrative by reframing a situation to look for silver linings; or dropping fear-based story lines that we have believed for too long.
This summer, in addition to the spiritual, intellectual, and political curiosity I’ve brought to the turbulence of 2020, I’ve experimented with also broadening my usual photography perspective.
If you’ve been following my work for a while, you’ll expect this sort of image from me after I’ve returned from a getaway to Smith Mountain Lake, Virginia, (or from anywhere tiny mushrooms grow…)
Every photograph I make has a lesson in it for me. I was walking up the slope from the lake to the house around 7 am and a sliver of angled sunlight transformed the cap into a tiny glowing beacon in the grass.
By the time I switched to my macro lens, the magic was gone. I almost didn’t bother with the shot, but — with the start of the school year somewhere in the back of my mind — I remembered middle school, when it seemed only “the golden ones” got attention.
This little creation was also worthy of my time and focus! Those fine details are miraculous even when the light isn’t perfect.
Reflections
I had started the morning in the paddle boat at about 6:00 am. My usual destination is the beaver dam in a channel beyond the steamy fog you see below. This morning, though, the bigger picture felt more important.
Drawing on what I’ve been learning from teachers like Freeman Patterson (see last week’s piece), I’m moving outside of my comfort zone to deepen the complexity of my “seeing” capacity.
I’m taking more time to reframe and really sense in to what’s most important about what I’m seeing.
Is the wide reflection of the top image more evocative for you, or does the focus on the fog hit you more at the emotional level?
And what about here…
Most of the image is simply a reflection. The surface hides what’s really going on below. Just like what we see about other people’s lives on social media. Just like what we see on the news when social justice protests erupt (riots are simply the surface reflection — we need to go deeper to understand the roots).
Choosing Perspective
What do you see here? Just a messy pile of dead tree stumps and brush?
Take a step back and look again. How did that particular arrangement even happen? What combination of wind and gravity and decay and other unknown forces did it take to create that sculpture?
Where is that arrow — half “real”, half a trick of light, pointing to? And how many critters, fish, plants, bacteria, and (if I missed a category) other life forms live inside or around this natural art installation?
Lost in my revery, I practically jumped out of my skin when a loud “thwack” broke the early morning stillness. The beaver had come to warn me I was getting too close to his territory.
Normally I would have dropped everything I was doing or thinking about to focus on the “cooler” subject. Most people are more likely to be interested in the beaver than a pile of dead logs.
But after just two imperfect shots of him, the bigger picture tapped me on the shoulder again. I sent gratitude and well wishes to the beaver and headed back.
Stay tuned for my second installment of New Perspectives gleaned that same morning on the lake, which pushes the envelope even farther. (Hint: my attention was pulled to more abstract experiments on my return trip.)
In the meantime, if you’re curious about how to train the different types of attention and perspective shifts reflected in this piece (applicable to photography and every other aspect of life), my next 30-Day Mindfulness Meditation Challenge is coming up on September 21. I’d love to have you join us!
