The Magic of Photography

A regular Saturday morning turned magical thanks to photography.

Purpose in Photography

Why do we photograph? Read my newsletter issue "On purpose in photography"

A beautiful foggy morning in the mountains

I live for moments like these.

Photography as a way to be more present

The act of taking photos can be seen as a way to remember things we don't want to forget, or to share those moments with others. The danger is: photography can take us away from the present moment, trading the experience we are having now for one in the future.

This is a very real concern and sometimes, the best thing we can do is to put the camera away and enjoy -- this is especially true for fleeting moments that don't last long.

But photography can be used as a tool to enrich the experience. In our search for beauty, we pay more attention, we increase its meaning, and we can feel even more present than before. Many times, photography can even be what creates those meaningful moments to begin with!

It is important, then, to know when to capture the moment, and to know when to simply take it all in. And if possible, find the real magic, somewhere in between.

Emotion in photography

We are driven by emotions — we make images when we see something that makes us feel in a certain way, and we try to recreate those feelings in the viewer through our work.

Art should touch and move the audience: the last thing we want is to leave people indifferent.

There’s a tricky balance in play here, though: on one hand, we need to feel something to make good images; on the other hand, we must be careful not to attach those feelings to the photograph.

This happens especially with images that were hard to make. Perhaps, we had to hike several miles to reach the location, wait several hours for the conditions to be just right, or we might have made the whole process more challenging on purpose, adding constraints to our workflow.

Whatever it is, those images will feel different. More rewarding to make, but harder to look at for what they are. It’s not easy to know how others are going to perceive what we capture, or how we will feel in a few months or years about the image.

This is ok. This is normal. This is part of the process, and it happens to all of us. But it’s important to be aware that this is happening.

detaching ourselves from our work

It’s important to develop a sense of looking at our own work from a distance. We should try to see it from the perspective of someone else. We can also ask for feedback.

In the end, though, only time will give us the required perspective. Letting our photos marinate for a few weeks, months, or even years, so we can see them for what they are, once our attachment to them has faded away a little bit.

how to convey emotion with our photography

I talk from my personal experience here: the way I do it is by focusing on the mood, the atmosphere, instead of a specific subject or location. It’s all about the fog, the snow, the clouds, the stillness of the water in a long exposure, the lone figure in the vastness of the landscape, the small facing the big…

We can also evoke wonder by creating mystery: think deep shadows, and night photography. This can even make the viewer feel a bit uncomfortable, as their imagination runs wild.

Contrast can dramatically change the feeling of an image: high contrast is the equivalent of being loud, while low contrast is more gentle and subtle.

Let’s not forget about the way we present and show our work: photography is much more than showing a single image. For example, the audience comes along with me in my videos, and the photographs I show in them will feel very differently than the ones I share by themselves. The movie offers a context that will frame the work in a very different light.

Books let us use captions and descriptions. Use that extra information to reveal things about the image that are not obvious by just looking at it. Music can transform visual work as well.

No matter what, don’t forget: your work is to make the viewer feel something — and that includes your future self.

Recognizing emotional attachment to our images

Recently, I listened to an interview where a landscape photographer was expressing their love for the struggle to make an image: the harder the process, the more rewarding it becomes for them.

This photographer was talking about hiking, but I see this happening in photography in many other ways. Another photographer mentioned using a tripod for every shot solely because of the same reason: to make the process slower and more challenging.

Indeed, we require some degree of hardship to stay engaged in the process and be able to see beauty where others miss to see it. But this is tricky, as it presents a danger: our emotional attachment to the images we make.

Because they were hard to make, because we are so proud of them, because they were a challenge we were able to overcome, we see them through a distorted lens.

They might work along with some context -- think a book with text explaining the conditions the image was made in, or a movie where we show all we had to go through.

But they might not work by themselves. A detached audience might not see in them what we see, because they lack the backstory and the emotions we felt while making it.

This discrepancy between our subjective relationship to our own work, and the response of others to it, is a gap we need to be aware of.

Images can and should convey emotions and feelings, but those must be expressed as much as possible in the image itself. This is true even if our photography has an audience of one, us, because time tends to make everything fade away. If our photographs don't speak to anyone else but us now, they might not speak to us either in the future, once all of those feelings are buried deeper within us.

Related:

• The diminishing returns of hiking
• You must delete the work you are most proud of

Shooting through glass

Shooting through glass is something I want to experiment more with. Embracing the glare, the reflections, the loss of clarity, the overlapping of two worlds.

So far, I've been using windows I find on my daily walks. But I'm seriously starting to consider carrying some kind of glass with me on my photography trips, to use as a sort of filter.

I'll keep you updated.

The diminishing returns of hiking

During my recent trip to Riaño, in the Picos de Europa mountains, I struggled quite a bit with a hike (to the top of Pico Gilbo) I thought I wanted to do.

I found myself making up plenty of excuses: too much haze, bad air quality, it seemed very steep, I had a long drive ahead of me, I wasn't going to make any good images...

In the end, I decided to start the hike and see how far I could go. I wasn't feeling it, and I kept coming up with excuses to head back several times during the hike. But one step at a time, one milestone after another, I made it to the top.

I am so glad I did because, as usual, every single excuse I had made up was just that: an excuse. All the struggle, along with the incredible views, made this one of the best hikes I've ever done.

But, one of the excuses turned out to be true. The one I knew, from experience, was most likely to happen: I didn't make good images during the hike.

Even though some of my best images were made in nature, hard hikes rarely deliver good photographs. At least for me.

I call this the diminishing returns of hiking.

Indeed, the further I go, the harder the hike, the more I push myself physically, the less likely it is that I'll come back with a good image.

We all have limited energy and time. The more you spend them on getting somewhere, the less you have left for your photography.

The more accessible a location is, the more we get to visit it and know it, which means better chances to be there at the right time. I tend to favor shorter hikes for this reason.

But of course, there are plenty of reasons to hike to places like Pico Gilbo beyond making a good image: those experiences can be awe-inspiring and spark something within us, as some of those hikes have done to me in the past. Sometimes it's best to forget about photography and enjoy the view.

Once-in-a-lifetime conditions for photography in Riaño (Picos de Europa mountains)

When I plan a photography trip, I usually focus on either relatively close spots, or relatively far places. I tend to ignore everything in between, and man was it a big mistake.

One of those places in between, far enough from home but not too far either, is Riaño. Technically part of the Picos de Europa, but a bit farther south. A beautiful, stunning place, so breathtaking that I can't believe I hadn't visited it sooner.

In any case, I've fixed that mistake now. I spent a few days in the area, and what a time I had. Still low season, I had the whole place for myself. Weather was perfect, not too cold, cloudy, moody. And during the first two days, I even had "calima".

Calima is an atmospheric phenomenon in which dust and sand from the Sahara, in Africa, gets blown all the way here by powerful winds. This happens often in the Canary Islands, just off the African coast, and sometimes in souther Spain. But I had never seen it happening this far north, which was confirmed by the locals as well.

The result? An incredibly eerie and beautiful landscape, looking almost like fog, but not quite. Closer to the smoke of a wildfire, if I were to find something similar. And just like in a wildfire, breathing this stuff is not healthy at all. I had to wear a mask for the first two days of the trip, and I had to put off any hiking to the second half of my travels. Everything worked out perfectly, I took full advantage of the calima, and I got to hike to the top of Pico Gilbo, one of the most breathtaking views I've ever seen.

A peaceful foggy morning of photography

A beautiful foggy morning spent with a camera in hand.

Carving the path, click by click

The only way to improve as photographers, and to build a collection of good images, is to do it... one click at a time.

One click at a time

Building a collection of images we love from scratch can feel overwhelming. Being constantly exposed to the work of thousands of photographers every day doesn't help.

The feeling of falling behind can materialize really quick. And before we know it, we give up.

This is a trap, and we must avoid falling into it.

Photography is a lifelong journey, it does take a lot of time and effort to build a portfolio of good images. It's not going to happen overnight. It won't be easy. But it's something we need to do everyday.

Quite literally, it happens one click at a time.

Remember: you are just one click away.

There is freedom in constraints

It might seem counterintuitive at first, but constraints can make us better focus on what's left.

Talking to Mali Davies on his podcast "Let's create - the photography show"

I had the pleasure to talk to Mali Davies from Let's Create - The photography show. You can listen to the episode here.

Angry arch

Ribadeo, Galicia, February 2022.

From the video Photography at the coast: mistake and successes.

Photography at the coast: mistakes and successes

Three days of photography at the coast, with some successes, and plenty of mistakes.

A game of shadows: why and how to crush the blacks

The shadows play a very important role in my photography. By controlling them, I get to decide how much to reveal, and how much to hide. Instead of giving the viewer everything, I like my images to hint.

Photographing the underwater town of Aceredo

The small town of Aceredo has been underwater for more than 30 years, but it's resurfaced for a brief time due to a drought. Of course, I had to capture it with my camera.

Yet another beautiful foggy morning walking around town

Another beautiful foggy morning walking around town, POV edition.

There's freedom in constraints

Most of my work is black and white, square images.

Over the last few years, I've witnessed quite a few stunning and colorful sunrises, and found scenes that would have worked pretty well on a more traditional 3:2 aspect ratio.

And yet, I stick to monochrome and the square format.

Those are not the only restrictions I impose on my photography. Even though a bit fuzzier than the other two, I'm pretty selective with my subject matter and the conditions I like to shoot in.

All of this might sound pretty restrictive but it is, in fact, liberating. After some time doing photography, I know what I'm looking for and what I'm trying to create with my camera.

If I had to capture everything I found in my explorations in the most fitting way, rather than the way I see it, the experience would be overwhelming. By limiting some of my options, I can better find what I'm looking for.