Why Do We Shoot?

Early one morning several years ago, I was shooting the sunrise over a small lake when a gentleman nearby asked, more to himself than to me, “Why do people take pictures?”  I was stumped by the question, because it seemed to me that the beauty of the scene before us should be all the answer anyone would need.  When I recovered from my surprise, I said, “It’s our best attempt to record the memory of such breathtaking places and moments in time.”  We exchanged a few pleasantries, and that was that.  I wish I could talk to that man again.

Why do people take pictures?  If you take yourself seriously as an artist, you would do well to consider this question.  The answer is vital to the growth and development of your personal style.  Don’t worry if you’re not feeling especially introspective at the moment.  If you’re out there shooting every day, constantly developing your eye and your skill, the answer already exists.  Your style will gradually emerge whether or not you’re consciously aware of your “why.”  But if you take the time to figure it out, you’ll have the benefit of that awareness to drive and inspire you.

All reasons for shooting distill into one overarching theme: to present worlds to the viewer that they might otherwise never see.  Some photographers do this through the beauty of exotic destinations, others through the horror of war torn or impoverished locales.  I do it through capturing the world that most people miss, not because it’s far away, but because they’re just not paying attention.  They’re so distracted by the stressful monotony of their daily existence that they forget the joy and wonder of the world that they once possessed as a child.

“Child-like wonder” is an attribute to which people refer with admiration and often a bit of wistfulness.  It’s almost as if there’s some cruel rite of passage on the journey to adulthood where we’re forced to exchange our wonder for experience, maturity, and “dignity.”  To a child, every day offers the prospect of new discoveries and exciting horizons, even if he’s confined to his own backyard.  I remember going on “expeditions,” planting flags all over the yard wherever I made a discovery.  I’m sure my mother lost count of the number of rocks, sticks, bugs and other treasures I brought into the house in those early years.  It is a wonder born of love and curiosity that sees the magic in a bird’s nest.  When  we grow up, we lose that curiosity, and we forget how to see.

I always strive to make my viewers feel as if they are in the world I’m presenting in the photograph, even if it turns out that the world they find is not the world I envisioned as the artist.  Firing the imagination is what it’s all about.  Through my photography, I can guide viewers on a tour into a world of discovery and imagination that fills them with that long lost sense of wonder.  It’s always nice when somebody says, “You have a great eye,” or “Beautiful shot!”  But it’s more gratifying to hear someone whisper, “I think I just saw Gandalf!”  This type of comment tells me that I’ve touched the viewer on a much deeper level than simply giving them something pretty to look at.  I’ve presented them with something that expanded their vision—their world—and I’ve shared with them a bit of mine.

Artists of all disciplines share this gift with the world.  In an instant, we can be transported into that fantastic realm as we gaze at a painting, study a sculpture, listen to a symphony, or watch a movie.  As grown ups, we tend to forget the importance of such journeys.  The pressures and distractions of everyday life blind us to the need to connect with something greater and more wonderful than ourselves.  Photography is one way I train myself to see again.  I capture the world that exists in plain sight.  The greatest reward to this approach is not achieving an amazing image, but in discovering something new about the world under my own nose.

My response to the man on the lake revealed where I was on my artistic journey.  I was recording beauty, and my pictures showed it.  They were nice enough, but something was lacking.  Today, I would give him a very different answer.  I would tell him that photography is my way of exploring my world, and that whenever I find something particularly delightful, I capture it and hold it up so everybody can partake in the wonder.  Discovering your reason for taking pictures is the secret ingredient that will lift your photography from a position of mere documentation and give it that spark that can only come from a greater purpose.