My Eye

My Eye

I was walking up from Tenleytown to Friendships, a very short walk, because it was devastatingly beautiful yesterday. Maybe it’ll snow today, or maybe freezing rain; but yesterday it was beautiful. I knew I wanted to at least use the opportunity to take some shots—no matter how they looked. 

Through my walk I kept trying to find different things to see. First, I went to Fort Reno park where I have always enjoyed the castle-like architecture against the blue sky. I’ve thought about this shot—minimalist as it is—with a red, orange, purple, black, and white background; with every style of sky! So when I made my way, I trained my eye on the possibility it could be something amazing. There is a rule I follow: if I can’t get something out of the image, lean into it.

As I kept walking, I tried to look specifically for this more minimalist feeling. My eyes gazed towards the tops of buildings, perches for birds to lay their eggs, places where there would be uninterrupted blue. I probably took about 20-30 shots, and most of them I ended up not liking. Below is one of those.

I didn’t like this photo for many reasons. For one, the background wasn’t even a perfect blue! But more importantly, it doesn’t speak to me. There is no rhythm, no flow, no subject or image-as-a-subject. Maybe there is; maybe as I continue to write this I am looking at what I saw in the moment: light reflecting where it otherwise is absent, the contrast between the sky and the shadows. But even still, no matter how much I look at it, there is just something lost.

About halfway to Friendship Heights station, I look at the shadows of people. They climb trees, walk on buildings, are in the middle of the street! I had an idea: what if I had a shadow sitting in a chair? Well—I couldn’t do that. But I did, after waiting until about three people past, see value in the chairs themselves. The photo is attached, with light editing to focus the eye.

What I love about the picture above is the simplicity. I mentioned before that there is either a subject or the image as the subject, this encapsulates that idea wonderfully. The chairs bring on a certain life, soul, beauty to the picture. I am taking a class on Buddhist Art and it’s fascinating to see such detail and worth where it otherwise is absent. Here is the same: imagine how many used these chairs, the stories behind them, the snow and rain they saw.

The next photo veers into street photography.

An old man walking. Simple! I had one shot and I think it worked. One of my favorites from the day. I saw this image only because I desperately wanted this lovely older couple, but hesitated with the background and full-image of the two. So I resorted to taking a shot of his shoe!

I think anyone can capture this image, specifically; hundreds, if not thousands, walk near us everyday, but we often never think about where or how we walk.

In the exact same place as the foot of the older man was a blue chair. I liked the blue chair. Then I saw the birds on the building! Then I saw the tree and how it divided perfectly! The image was a match made in heaven, and the flying bird to the left was merely an added bonus. I feel such love for this style of photo: so many things happening.

Finally we have the station of Friendship Heights.

When I got inside I saw a misty-haze. The light seemed to be swirling around the bulbs, almost as if the air was thick like a fog. I tried to get it, but realized fairly quickly I couldn’t. Then I saw my train coming and wondered if I could get a shot of it entering the station.

“No,” I told myself. It was too easy, too lazy.

Then I did, and I realized that mindset was the worst thing I could have. Every shot I’ve taken may be considered “easy” or “lazy,” after all, I didn’t run or exert any physical energy to take any (aside from walking). There wasn’t any hidden tricks or Olympus-camera only features. All it took was a desire to see.

Perfection

When I was in Rapa Nui, I had pangs of doubt about my photography. It felt that nothing was worth it; that there was nothing I could offer. So many other wonderful photographers did the exact same photo, in the exact same place, with the exact same camera. Same with Machu Picchu. Same with almost every place that I went. After all, why do something when someone else can do it better?

I felt defeated.

And I still sometimes do. There isn’t a single photograph that I’ve taken that “proves” me as a photographer; there doesn’t need to be. I was talking with my friend who asked me to validate her calling herself a photographer, and I was honored she asked me. I told her that no one needed to give permission to call oneself that: if you respect the craft, have the drive and determination, learn and are curious, and (most importantly)want to take photos, you are.

I was raised in the United States; everything is competitive. We are taught we need to be the best. Truly, the greatest or else we fail. We need to be perfect. So every photo I take I believe needs to be perfect. Are they? Hardly!

But once we subscribe to the idea of perfection, we have already lost. There is no perfection. There is no ideal photograph. Photographs that I’d deem “perfect” get a mediocre reaction; photographs I’ve thought were terrible have gotten high praise.

So here is something I am telling myself:

• Take the photo I envision, a photo that has a soul, tells a story, has meaning

• Do not worry about it looking anything more than what it is; abandon my expectation of perfection and I will find every photo is perfect… to me.

My first “perfect” photo, taken 7 years ago. Before I knew what ISO, Shutter Speed, Aperture, or anything was