Cultivating the Intuitive Mind...

The intuitive mind is a sacred

gift and the rational mind its

faithful servant.  We have 

created a society that honors 

the servant and has

forgotten the gift.

- Albert Einstein

   Intuition is the sixth sense.  For this contemplative photographer, it is in many ways the most important one.  For the rationalists among us, it is dismissed totally or rationalized away as merely an unsubstantiated "feeling".  Worse still, it often includes the word "woman" in the same breath.  

   There are many kinds of intuition of course but I want to focus on the kind of intuition a photographer might employ to direct their lens.  I go to the pond, it is my "destination" but after I arrive there I allow my intuition, my trans-rational self, to guide me.  Here are a few suggestions you might try:

1. Turn down the volume on your rational mind...

   Don't establish an agenda; don't give yourself goals.  Solidly formed expectations are a sure way to assure your intuitive mind will remain silent.  

2. Don't pick up your camera right away...

   Being in a hurry to record what is around you is playing into the rational mind's agenda of getting things done.  Intuition takes time to manifest itself.  The intuitive mind is not a "workaholic" like the rational mind.  It is comfortable with inactivity and simply "beingness" and you should be too.

3. Take time to quiet your mind...

   I close my eyes for a time.  Your eyes first path is to the rational part of your mind.  By closing them you allow the other senses a chance to enter into the conversation and the other senses are more closely aligned with the intuitive mind.  

4. Trust your gut...

   Once I open my eyes I trust whatever comes into my mind.  I try not to second guess the process which is the surest sign your rational mind is still in control. If you find yourself attracted to the pile of leaves at your feet...go with it!  And, most importantly...stay with it!

   Cultivating the intuitive mind takes time and patience and most of all trust.  It is there, in all of us - men and women - and it it just waiting for the opportunity to speak to you.  But intuition is an elusive thing.  The more you try to think about it, the less likely you will be to experience it. If the rational mind is the "know-it-all" at the party, the intuitive mind is the shy one in the corner.

Dig Deeper:

    10 Things Highly Intuitive

People Do Differently

Making Meaning Through Contemplative Photography: Part Two

Interaction - 2 December 2014

When we put a frame 

around an image,

taking it out of its 

context as we do

when we photograph, we

 are in fact constructing a

 version of reality.  We

are imposing a way of 

seeing, a meaning,

upon the reality that 

we are receiving.

- Howard Zehr

   This is how Zehr begins his chapter on making meaning in photography.  I am developing a much greater appreciation of this idea through my pond abstractions.  I can make the meaning more obvious by the way I frame the image.

   What I ask myself before I make a photograph on location relates strongly to my Taoist leanings.  "Where is the energy of this place at this moment?"  All landscape has an intrinsic energy or Qi in Taoist terms.  This day, it was in the interactions and tensions between the areas of frozen and open water in the pond.  So, I narrowed my viewpoint to a specific area of the pond's surface where I thought the energy of interaction was the strongest.  The resulting image is above.  I think it is one of my most powerful images of the pond to date.

    When you can discern the Qi in a place you will find yourself settling into what the Taoist call Te.  It is a state where you can just seamlessly relate to what is in front of you and the photographs you can make will resonate with personal meaning for you.  It doesn't happen every time, maybe not even half the time, but when it does you will know...your photographs will show it.  I think it shows in this image.

    When you next go out to photograph, ask yourself, "Where do I feel the energy lies at this place at this moment?" and compose your photographs around that area.  There you will be able to distill and manifest meaning but remember, it will not be the same the next day.  Energy flows and changes and your role as a contemplative photographer is to make meaning from what you perceive...at that particular moment.

   If you want to read a bit about the Taoist principles of Te and Qi, you can link to this past post...

    Characteristics of a Photographic Sage - Part IX: Te

  

Making Meaning Through Contemplative Photography: Part One

   The ego needs success to thrive,

the soul needs only meaning.

- Richard Rohr

  It took me a long time to realize that the role photography was to play in my live had no relationship to any form of "success"...at least in financial terms.  When I gave up the continual quest for exhibitions and sales I began to focus more on personal meaning and my relationship to the landscape, to everything I encounter, changed.

In order to "give a meaning" to the world, one has to feel oneself involved in what one frames through the viewfinder.  This attitude requires concentration, a discipline of mind, sensitivity, and a sense of geometry - it is by great economy of means that one arrives at simplicity of expression.

- Henri Cartier-Bresson

   What we receive from the landscape is in part dependent on selectivity.  We do not sit passively on the shore...we actively engage with the landscape on a heart level.  We must then select from the wealth of gifts it is bestowing on us every moment.  Through that selection process we can discern meaning.

   I have been watching the slow and undulating transformations of the pond this month as it freezes, melts and refreezes almost on a daily basis.  It is a beautifully choreographed dance that I am witnessing.  The interplay of light and water, liquid or frozen, is a constant marvel.  Finding just the right point in all that was before me where that dance most clearly manifested itself to me was my task...the image above was the result.

   In Howard Zehr's wonderful book on contemplative photography that I wrote about on December 3, 2014, he devotes a whole chapter to "making meaning".  That phrase is important because we don't merely "find" a meaning in the landscape as much as we "make" meaning through our selection and composition.  Again, it is an active rather that a passive interaction with the landscape.  Tomorrow, I will continue these thoughts on how we can make meaning through our camera work.

Looking Out/Looking In

   In January I will have been writing this blog for three years.  In all that time I continue to be amazed at where I find inspiration.  Books, poetry, songs, quotations but the inspiration for this post really takes the prize.

   I was at the transfer station depositing my recyclables in the big container there.  As I was doing that something caught my eye.  Peeking out from under a large cardboard box was a book and the title was...Looking Out/ Looking In!  It really made me smile.  I thought, that is exactly what contemplative photographers do with their camera work.  They look out into the world in order to look into themselves.

   Over time and with thoughtful reflection, our images will reveal our inner truths.  Sometimes those truths will be surprising but we learn from them and move on.  With each photograph we write another page in the biography of our souls and page by page the chapters unfold.

   Yes, inspiration can come anywhere and at anytime.  Even at the transfer station on a Tuesday morning.  Photographs are like that too.  There is always something interesting and revealing and with every click of the shutter we are recording a bit of ourselves as well.

There is only you and your camera. The limitations in your 

photography are in yourself, for what we see is what we are.

Ernst Haas 

 

A Season of Giving and Receiving...

   The Christmas shopping season is well underway.  Perhaps you are hoping for a new lens or camera bag but I want to speak about all the gifts you have already received, in the photographs you have been gifted by the landscape.

   I've always spoken about how I don't take or make photographs...I receive them.  When I share them with you on this blog I am simply "re-gifting" them in a manner of speaking.  When I have done presentations on contemplative photography in the past, I always make a point to tell people they need to "change their lenses".  I get that idea from Howard Zehr in his wonderful book, The Little Book of Contemplative Photography: Seeing with wonder, respect, and humility.  I carry that book with me when I travel and refer to it constantly.  I owe so many of my ideas on contemplative photography to Howard Zehr and his writing in this small book which is part of the justice and peace building series put out by Good Books.

Below is a chart that Zehr includes in his book on the idea of changing one's lens in order to enter into a new relationship with the landscape or with anything you photograph for that matter.  I do recommend you put it on your gift giving list and don't forget to gift a copy to yourself as well!

Disclaimer:  I do not receive a cut in the sales of this book!  I am simply sharing with you a wonderful resource.  This is also true of any other book or DVD I recommend on this blog.  This blog is not a commercial enterprise in any way.  I only recommend products or classes that I have personal experience with and think you might enjoy as well.  I just thought you might like to know this.

Channeling Your Inner Mystic...

The most unfortunate thing about the concept of mysticism is that the word itself has become mystified—and relegated to a “misty” and distant realm that implies it is only available to a very few. For me, the word simply means experiential knowledge of spiritual things, as opposed to book knowledge, secondhand knowledge...- Richard Rohr

   "The experiential knowledge of spiritual things..." That is how I view my interaction with the landscape.  What I hope to channel when I sit patiently on the edge of my pond listening visually to the whispers of the place.  It took me nearly a lifetime to acknowledge the spiritual element of place...the energy and "otherness" of the landscape.  Yes, it is water and trees and mist but it is also so much more.

   As Richard Rohr says, it is an experience, not something we can learn from books or even from me telling you it is so.  It is something you have to find out for yourself.  I have felt, these last five months at the pond, that I am can more easily channel that inner mystic because of my familiarity and comfort with the place.  In this case, familiarity does not breed contempt, it nurtures the mystic encounter.

   The channel opens up best when I can clear my head completely...when I am able to keep the petty and not so petty concerns of the day from intruding.  It is not easy and it doesn't happen all the time.  But when I can still the psychic rattling in my brain, even for a minute, something wonderful always comes through.

   November is an in between time, neither autumn or winter.  It is in these border times that I find the mystic encounter with the landscape most easily achieved.  It is a time when a walk along a pond or along a woodland path will often stop you in your tracks.  Try it...try channeling your inner mystic this week.

They (mystics) were simply people who trustfully affirmed, with open hearts, the

 grace of their own hungry experience—in that moment... Richard Rohr

Trust the Process...

   Contemplative photography, like every other form of art, is a process.  And sometimes, especially when one is feeling a bit stuck, it is important to remember to trust that process.  You will see the things you need to see, you will be where you need to be and the meaning of the images will reveal itself to you in time.  You simply have to have faith.

   I write this daily photo blog and I also post daily to my photojournal.  It can get a bit overwhelming at times.  Those are the very times when I need to step back and put my trust in the process that has always worked for me in the past.  I simply stay open to random influences that will, all of a sudden, open my eyes to  new photographic possibilities.

   I am reading a wonderful book that mentions the Einstein concept of seeing time as a river that bends and curves; a river we drift along in but which we can step out of if we choose.  When I looked out my kitchen window a little while later I saw this...a visual translation of the passage I just read. 

   Little clues, small illuminations, subtle messages are all around us all the time. They needn't be earth shattering or mind blowing either...just gentle nudges for the soul to contemplate. Being intensely involved with my genealogical research of late, it was a most important image for me to see at this moment and I didn't even have to leave my house to see it.  I did walk out back to make the photograph but it was a walk of about 50 feet.  The point is, one must remain open to any and all influence...let it sink in and filter its way through your consciousness and eventually it will direct you to a new moment of clarity.  Trust but don't force the process.  Let it just flow like Einstein's river...

Please, do sweat the small stuff!

As Above, So Below

   We've all heard the old adage, "Don't sweat the small stuff!"  I'm here to say that it is all small stuff and it is well worth the effort.

   Thoreau said that there are two ways to view the landscape, with a telescope or a microscope.  Somehow I think the answer lies in between.  While we all love the grand vista, it is in the intimate details that I find the most enjoyment.  For me, the landscape is the sum total of the myriad details that make it up.

The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself.

- Henry Miller

   While I love to photograph the sweep of a pond,  the big view, I am most content with the closer, more personal relationship I can forge with the small details of the landscape.  Like this study of reflections at a friends pond this summer.

   I was captivated by the light, the color and, of course, the amazing reflection in the still water.  And moving in to a more intimate detail creates a lovely abstraction.  Yet, everything the larger photograph has is contained in the small view.

   The closer I get into the landscape the more impressionistic and even abstract it becomes.  I've certainly discovered this in my project The Poetry of Place.   It really is, in the final analysis, up to your personal engagement with the landscape...do you take the large view or the small view?  Or perhaps, like me, do you enjoy the process of walking into the landscape, to try and see the whole from a small part?  Here is a link to a discussion on three different ways to engage the landscape...try them all!

Photographing the Landscape

   No matter which of the three you decide suits you, keep your mind and heart open.  Sometimes it is the landscape itself that will tell you what you need to do.

Pause, Focus, Connect

Connections

   During our contemplative weekend on Star Island over Labor Day, workshop leader, Kim Manley Ort encourage participants to follow a three step approach to their camera work...Pause, Focus and Connect.  I've been thinking a lot about this process of approaching the landscape since.

   PAUSE:  It is very hard to make photographs on the run yet so many people seem in such a hurry to get from here to there.  Pausing allows you to take in your surroundings.  You can try this little exercise I did at the pond awhile back.  Take ten (or 20 or 15) steps and stop...wherever you find yourself.  Even if it doesn't, at first, seem very appealing.  Spend time really looking around yourself...up, down, right, left, forward and back.

FOCUS:  On our Star Island retreat, I introduced people to my visual listening exercise.  This co-ordinates very nicely with Kim's encouragement to focus in on one part of the landscape.  What drew your attention?  What about this fascinates you?

CONNECT:   This is the moment when you forge a relationship, a more intimate embrace of what you at first merely witnessed.  This is the contemplative portion of the equation.  Traditional photographers, I believe, stop at the "focus" stage.  They literally focus the camera's lens, make the photograph and move on.  But the connection part is very important to me.  It allows me to move from the witness role to become more of a partner with the landscape.  The resulting image is really a co-creation.

   There are many ways to connect and it must really happen in the gut more than in the brain.  A recent article I read about the dynamics of a forest's web of connection made it more concrete to me.  In it, forest ecologist Suzanne Simard reveals how the trees communicate with other plants through this underground network.  It was mind boggling to say the least.  Now, when I get to the "connect" stage in my walk, I feel like I am part of that amazing web of communication.

    I encourage you to try this process when next you are out in the landscape and check out Kim's website for more information.

Tree Communication

A Copy or An Original?

   A painting is above all a product of the

artist's imagination; it must never be a copy.

- Edgar Degas

The Poetry of Place: 13 October 2014

   I remember reading about how the art world reeled with the advent of photography.  The painted portrait was dead, they all said.  With the camera, what was the point?  Of course, that did not turn out to be the case because the painter could do things the camera couldn't.  The painter could infuse his subject with feeling and emotion...not so the poor photographer who could only record what was in front of him.

   That idea has also been proven wrong and now the photographer has a choice; to clearly and realistically depict what "is" or interpret the landscape, or whatever he is photographing, through the lens of his heart.  When he does, he is paying homage to Degas' statement that an artist must never copy.  This artistic edict isn't often applied to photography but perhaps it should.

    Although I make no claim to mastering the evocative and personal image, I try very hard to step beyond merely representing the landscape, which is, of course, a perfectly acceptable thing to do.  After all, contemplation is seeing things as they really are, in the here and now.  But I want my photographs to also reflect the spiritual essence of place, not just its material reality.

   You can do that with your choice of framing as well as the way you process the image later on.  What do you emphasize?  What do you play down?  What moved you when you were there to make the image in the first place?  It is not an easy thing to do but, for me, it is worth attempting.  It requires that you progress beyond the role of silent witness and to forge a bond and connection to the landscape and that, whether you make a photograph or not, is always a good thing to experience.

    Fellow contemplative photographer and blogger, Kim Manley Ort, recently posted a thought provoking essay on keeping your photographs "alive".  You might like to read and reflect...

Are Your Photographs Alive?

  

In Their Own Words: John O'Donohue

When our eyes are graced with wonder, the world reveals its wonders to us. There are people who see only dullness in the world and that is because their eyes have already been dulled. So much depends on how we look at things. The quality of our looking determines what we come to see.

 - John O’Donohue

The Poetry of Place: 3 October 2014

   "The quality of our looking...." what a thought provoking phrase.  What determines the quality of our looking?  I tried to come up with a formula:

Q = a clear mind + an open heart + sufficient time - expectations

  This equation simplifies things quite a bit but it gets to the essence of the contemplative photographic experience for me.  There is no better illustration of this than the pond abstractions I'm discovering.

   I  had no idea, when I first experienced one, that I would so completely fall in love with the idea.  The abstract expressionist renderings in the water were a revelation for me.  It allowed me to see Nature as the ultimate artist creating masterful canvases for me to enjoy.

   I've even taken the idea one step further and added a painterly effect to the image; subtle brush strokes.  I can see these printed large, on canvas.  This is something I would never have attempted just a few months ago.  The pond experience is opening all sorts of new paths for me to explore.  Perhaps I should add "+ an open mind" to my equation!

   Soon, too soon for my tastes, the pond will be blanketed in white and the abstract compositions in the water will end for a time.   But that just opens up new possibilities to explore if I just keep my contemplative equation in my mind.  My experience at the pond this year will certainly be enhanced if I also keep John's words in mind..."when our eyes are graced with wonder, the world reveals its wonders to us."  There can be no better advise in my opinion.

 

Seeing is what happens between the photographs..

   Honestly, if I never picked up a camera again I would forever me thankful for the way photography has opened my eyes to the world around me.  In many ways, however, the camera can inhibit pure perception.  When you bring the viewfinder to your eye, you immediately "exclude" something.  I've made it a contemplative practice to spend time with those excluded areas of the landscape after I make a photograph.

Lines of Communication

   Seeing is what happens between the photographs.

    Seeing is both an eye and a heart thing for me...the camera an intermediary in the process and sometimes, often really, it doesn't "see" what I see.  Perhaps the light wasn't just right or, more likely, I chose the wrong aperture or some other technicality.   For whatever reasons, I rely on my field notes, sketches, and memory to translate the image visually into what I felt emotionally on location.

      Perhaps it was the lowering of the water level at the pond that exposed the lily pad stems and the approaching Autumn that colored them but I don't remember seeing them this shocking magenta before.  It really brought me to a stand still.  The contrast with the green pads was stunning.

   I had photographed the area and then put the camera aside and really looked at what was in front of me.  It was then I noticed the red stems.  The camera cannot see anything it isn't pointed at just like a brush cannot paint without the artist setting it in motion.  Camera and brush are static and impotent tools without the thoughtful spirit of the artist behind them.  Artistic vision is when we are able to string together a series of these "in-sights" and those happen first without the camera pressed to our eye.

Vision is the art of seeing what

 is invisible to others.

 - Jonathan Swift

  

Polishing the Lens; Everything is Holy Now...

Above all else, contemplative photography is about seeing...seeing things as they are.  Seeing things with all the clarity of perception we can muster.  To do that we need, occasionally, to polish the lens.  Vision can get cloudy over time.  Despite our best intentions, we can fall into the trap of seeing what we want to see, not what is really in front of us.  We all have the tendency to want to "sanitize" our world...make it, perhaps, a purer more perfect place, as if the dark sides to existence are to be avoided at all costs.

   Then there are those who revel in the darker side.  Those haunting images of the decayed, broken and dark elements of our world.  For me, I try to find a middle ground.  I accept the dark but I don't dwell in it.  I also realize that the two, taken together, heightens the experience of both... 

What good is the warmth of summer, without

 the cold of winter to give it sweetness.

― John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America

   The pond's water level is dropping, exposing the mud and muck that before was beneath the lovely reflections dancing on the surface.  It was always there, of course, but concealed.  Now it is there to offer us a glimpse at the underside.  The rotting vegetation may not be pretty, and it certainly doesn't smell sweet, but it is what feeds the pond.  It is what gives it life. We may prefer to photograph the water lilies but it is the rotting muck that makes them possible.  It is easy to turn away from the underside but it too has wisdom to offer us. 

    I call this "polishing the lens".  It is walking the borderline between the dark and the light, appreciating both but not dwelling totally in either.  It is the balance that is important and which the Tao teaches us to seek.  When your inner lens is clear then you will embrace both views and not judge them.  There are no "bad" locations or subjects for the contemplative photographer, only lenses than could do with a bit of a polish.

    The inspiration for this post comes from Richard Rohr.  You might like to read the original post...

Contemplation

  This weekend I am in the sheltering sanctuary of St. Joseph's Abbey surrounded by an atmosphere of sacredness. I want to end this post by offering you a beautiful song by Peter Mayer that really describes how my camera and I walk through the world now.  Peter would have felt right at home with the Concord Transcendentalists.  He seems to echo the words of Emerson and Thoreau in so many ways in this song.  The beautiful images that accompany the song will inspire you as well, I'm sure.  I often find myself humming this tune while I am sitting in the landscape and it's title can ring as a kind of mantra for the contemplative photographer...

Everything is Holy Now

Cultivating the Art of Seeing Simply...

   Being surrounded with visual possibilities, it is sometimes easy to become overwhelmed.  I feel that way sometimes at the pond where there is so much to distract me, so much to pull me in.

   When I become visually over loaded, I close my eyes and whisper, "See Simply...Simply See." I repeat this little mantra several times and it calms the visual receptors in my brain so that when I again open my eyes I can refocus them to perceive simplicity rather than chaos.

   This day I tried to cultivate the simple image.  An image that is soothing and sparse but still rich with texture and meaning.  This is one of my pond "Simplicities" - Wind on Water.  Although there was a subtle sense of movement, it also had a contrasting sense of calm with the great expanse of textured blue water.

   Haiku is the poetic equivalent of the image perceived simply.  This is the one I wrote as I sat on the edge of the pond after I made the photograph...

Wind on water flows

Across a silent blue pond

Rustling leaves respond

   Seeing simply isn't necessarily a minimalistic approach, although it can be.  For me, it is, simply put, the art of appreciating a small number of visual elements within the pictures frame.  Textured blue water and oval green lily pads is enough...it speaks of wind and movement...nothing else is needed...anymore dilutes the impression.

   Photographer and teacher, Kim Manley Ort, offers an online tutelage in the art of seeing simply called  Keeping it Simple.  A new session begins October 6th.  You might wish to explore this type of contemplative photography for yourself.  Kim offers this quotation for the art of seeing simply...

The simple things are also the most extraordinary

things, and only the wise see them.

- Paulo Coelho

The Alchemist

A Few Thoughts on Intention...

   I knew there was to be another Super Moon on August 10th.  I'd gone to see the one in July but it
rose behind the trees.  Besides, I didn't have my tripod with me so my feeble attempt to render the moonrise was a complete failure.

   This time I did my homework and dusted off my tripod.  I quickly realized my 200 mm lens would be insufficient to render the lunar detail.  They recommended a 500 mm lens.  Well, I wasn't about to run out and purchase one so I had to think a bit about my intention for photographing the moon at all.

   What I decided was that it wasn't the moon itself that interested me.  I could see the spectacular results of those who did have the proper equipment and technical knowledge to render the craters and lunar landscape with incredible detail on the internet.  That wasn't what fascinated me.

   What sparked my poetic imagination was the moon's relationship and interaction with the pond.  That was what I wanted to photograph...the light on the water and the lily pads, the soft glow as it broke over the hill.  I wanted the evocative feeling of the experience not a scientific rendering of the lunar surface.

    I have never claimed to be a technical perfectionist when it comes to my digital photography.  Frankly, reading the technical issues involved with photographing the moon made my eyes cross.  I figured out what I needed to do to make this image and it satisfied me immensely.  This time, the moon rose over the hill but there was only a few minutes in which everything came together and I was able to make a photograph that captured my emotion while I sat on the shore witnessing this beautiful event.  It soon rose too high and was again obscured by the tree branches and the light on the water changed and the lily pads sunk into shadow.

   One has to be clear about one's intentions otherwise one will surely be disappointed.  My trial run the night before showed me what I needed to do to make an image that would work for my Poetry of Place project.  I worked with what I had and it was enough...it always is if you understand yourself and your intentions.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnote:
    I shared this photograph with a friend and he called to my attention the fact that three planets can be seen in the photograph.  Tiny pin pricks of light, I was thrilled to see that Saturn, Venus and the red planet, Mars, can be seen if you look very closely.  See if you can find them! It is a bit like a planetary "Where's Waldo" exercise.  Clue: they are are to the left and above the moon and Mars, the red planted is in between the leaves.

Tonight is the last "Super Moon" of the year.  Although not as large as August's moon, it still is worth venturing out to see with or without a camera.

More Than Words Can Say...

  Lately, I have discovered that as I sit on the shore of Little Clemons Pond, journal in my lap, pencil poised, I find I am a loss for words.  Now this is not a common occurrence for me.  I usually find the words flow in abandon.  I believe I am becoming mesmerized by the pond and it has silenced my normally prolific pencil.

   This particular day, I was sitting on the western shore on a part that is very close to the road.  Just a mere twenty feet away cars, and an occasional logging truck, pass by but I tune them out completely.  This is also another side effect of the pond's hypnotizing ability.

   I think I have more completely merged with the landscape here than I ever have before, anywhere, and I'm not quite sure why this might be true.  Perhaps it is a benefit I am now enjoying after spending the last nine years immersed in contemplative photography.  Perhaps it has taken me that long to open myself up fully to the act of pure experience.  Whatever the reason, I am so profoundly enjoying this experience that I must, again, urge you to find your own "Walden".  A place nearby that you can visit repeatedly over a long period of time.  A place where two souls can merge in an embrace of understanding and appreciation.

We must not cease from exploration.  And

the end of all our exploring will be to

arrive where we began and to know the

place for the first time.

- T.S. Eliot

Finding your center with contemplative photography...

   In SoulCollage® they call it "soul essence".  It represents the very center of who you are.  It is our deepest self, our true self.  It is what is left when you strip away all the other ego based things in your personality, your false self.

   Contemplative photography offers everyone a tool for exploring their own unique soul essence.  One needn't have fancy equipment (this photo was made with my cell phone camera) or vast knowledge of the photographic medium, (I am no technical expert to be sure).  All it requires is an attentive eye, a trusting heart, and mind that is willing to go beyond the surface of the perceived world.

    Neither does it require one to know all the answers...it suffices to simply ask the questions.  Each photograph is a question you are asking of yourself.  Something called out to you and you responded my releasing the shutter.  It is up to you ask 'why'. That will lead you, eventually, to your center.

    Walking labyrinths is a way to train your mind to trust the journey and simply walk.  You will get to the center.  Making your photographs is a journey as well and all you have to do is make the images.  You will get to your soul's essence, your center, in time...image by image.

A related past post:

Inside Every Question is a Quest

  

Nuturing your Attentive Eye...

The present moment is filled with

joy and happiness. If you are

 attentive, you will see it.

- Thich Nhat Hahn

   During my month long sabbatical, I have been working quite diligently on nurturing my attentive eye.  Part of my process in doing this is to try and spend time each day attending to the tiny details in the landscape that I find around my home.  I deliberately turned off my "metaphorical mind" so that I could revel in the simple beauty of whatever I found.

   I needed this time to re-acquaint myself with the simply joy of discovery.  I didn't have to rationalize the image or try to make it more than what it was...just a simple attempt to appreciate the beauty we are surrounded by everyday.

   Walking in the garden after a shower offered this cluster of raindrops that I found quite stunning...like tiny diamonds, a group of transient gems along a leaf...here one moment and gone the next.  That is the beauty of taking time to see what Nature offers us, everyday, and in our own backyards.  It is often fleeting, these details of enchantment, and one must make a vow to oneself to seek them out.

Blessed are they who see beautiful

things in humble places where other

people see nothing.

- Camille Pissarro

Non-Dualism and the Photographic Process...

  We all begin as dualistic thinkers.  We have to learn to discriminate between things.  It helps us develop a firm footing.  Unfortunately, some people remain in this mode of thinking their entire lives.  Its always "us vs. them", "good vs. evil", "right vs. left".  Theirs is an either/or, totally black and white world.

   When I taught art at the elementary level I would end a lesson on warm and cool colors with my Kindergarten folks with a little game.  Five years old are very dualistic thinkers and they love to sort things.  I gave them a big pile of colored circles and two boxes. One was labeled "cool colors" and one was labeled "warm".  

    At first it was all fun and games...red goes here and blue goes there...no discussion.  But then along comes violet.  One child said, "It's a warm color, see the red?"  Another said, "No, see the blue? It's a cool color." A third child turned to me and said, "I think we need another box, Mrs. Turner!"  Ah, the beginning of non-dualistic thought.

   Good photographs, bad photographs...the right light, the wrong light...the best camera or paper.  All this represents a dualistic frame of mind.  Watch the video below and open your mind to a non-dualistic approach to the photographic process.  (Thanks, Kim Manley Ort for the link!)  It is 45 minutes but well worth the watching...

Chris Orwig on the Photographic Process

The Charm of the Ephemeral...

   Photographers are always chasing the ephemeral...the fleeting...the transitory.  Light may be the greatest example of this.  After all, we're all about the light.

   One moment the light can be luminous and breath taking and the next moment flat and grey.  I saw that very powerfully when I was in the Outer Hebrides.  Light there could change dramatically in a matter of moments.

   Of course, one needn't look any further than their own backyards to experience the ephemeral moment.  I got up very early one morning just as the sunlight was illuminating the left over hydrangea blossoms.  Amazing really that after the heavy snows this winter these delicate, paper-like flowers were still there...still able to catch the glow of early morning light.  A moment later the glow became a glare and the effect was lost.

   Some may credit pure luck, to be at a location just as the light does something magical but I prefer to believe as the great Irish poet W.B. Yeats admonished...

The world is full of magic things patiently

waiting for our senses to grow sharper.

   In our obsessive search for the fleeting, the transitory, the momentary we may be missing out on the magic of our own backyards.  Become aware of these brief times of luminosity whenever and wherever they occur.