The small beauty of everyday things

Do you ever find beauty in everyday things? Seemingly mundane stuff is part of the fabric of our daily lives, existing quietly in the background. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, especially on days when I feel as though I lack photographic inspiration. I can’t help but think that we’re sometimes looking for the big things as photographers, hoping they’ll catch the attention of online communities often engulfed by their own search for attention and validation. I’ve touched on that before too, of course.

Gaze – Sony RX100

Seeing everyday things in a fresh way that reveals their beauty isn’t a new idea. Contemplative photography and Miksang are approaches that emphasise an unpretentious photographic practice that’s mindful and completely present in the moment. The elevation of technical perfection is secondary to the experience of being in the world – of being aware of the moment completely and utterly. In this sense, it draws parellels to mindfulness and meditation, where inhabiting the moment non-judgementally is key.

Draped colours in strong sunlight – Olympus OMD EM5 Mark 2

There’s an interesting tension in this approach – maintaining a mind that’s open to details without becoming overly distracted by them.

When I inhabit the moment in photography, I pause momentarily to make a photo when a scene tugs at my attention gently enough that it doesn’t completely dislodge my middle-focus. Middle-focus occurs when attention hovers between soft and intense – when it’s non-judgemental and simply observational – when we focus on a thing without placing too much value on it or too much thought into it, and don’t allow it to draw us too close. In this state, we recognise something as being of value photographically, but our attention only skims across it – like a small boat floating lightly on clear water.

If this middle-focus state is dislodged and derailed, if the small boat sinks, the mindful journey will stop like a train pulling into the station to accept noisy passengers. This is the moment where mindfulness is thwarted and attention inhabits the distraction too fully, too intensely, and with an overburden of thought and judgement of value.

Morning delivery – Sony RX100

What defines this gentle pull at the edges of attention? What qualities in a scene are important? This is likely different for every photographer. For me, it’s important that such photos inhabit a space somewhere between details normally unnoticed and scenes that communicate meaning softly and quietly.

In the space between inspiration

Lately, I’ve been exploring the idea of quiet photography: noticing the quiet corners and seeking the details. When the big moments of inspiration don’t strike, it’s important not to feel the pressure of having to make photos. But if there is the tiniest inkling of wanting to pick up the camera at such times, why not commit to the small photos of everyday moments? Isn’t it in the everyday that we find a fresh view of the world?

Fire Panel – Sony RX100

Oh, where would I be without my little Sony RX100? Small, black, and set to silent mode, I re-discovered the joys of using it last year after keeping it in a drawer for too long. When the big Nikon seems too hefty for the moment, I’m always happy to find some fresh detail with the little Sony camera. Somehow, it feels less serious and more fun than my Nikons when inspiration lacks. Of course, it can make great pictures, but then again, so can a 100 year old film box!

Splashes of yellow – Sony RX100

Quiet corners and photos of distinct insignificance

In my previous post, I touched on the idea that not every photo needs to be epic and impactful. Not every moment needs to be recorded. We must always remember that seeing and feeling are at the heart of photographic practice. In cultivating the eye and heeding the pull of emotion, we enable synchronicity with the environment, and in this momentary state the camera records our imaginative trajectory through the world.

Yet, sometimes the photos are small and quiet. They’re not loud or imposing at all. These are the quiet corners and the scenes forgotten in a rush. They’re just as important and they’re the details we often miss.

Empty bottles in the sun at a second-hand shop in the country – Sony RX100

In a world where we often clamour for attention, hoping for some notoriety or virality, for some interaction on social media, for the epic amplification of our voice, being loud seems to have become the default mode for many. The intense desire to be heard above the digital cacophany may signify the ongoing trend to further isolation, loneliness, and insularity but the small and quiet photo, bereft of loud intentions and sweeping announcements, is a momentary escape. This is where we connect the eye, the heart, and the imagination to the world.

Out with the old – Sony RX100

What do you do when your photos don’t inspire?

The sun was out, there was a nice breeze, and we had an entire afternoon free. A drive to Blanchetown should have provided fruitful inspiration for photographs. But it didn’t, mostly. The weather was kind, the company good, the battery charged, and the Nikon Z5 ready for anything. So, what happened? It was me…

You know those days as a photographer when things just don’t come together? There’s a disconnect between what you see and how you feel. You compose and press the shutter but the result fails to inspire you. At times like this, I do a few things:

  • Remove the pressure from myself by leaning into other moments. Not everything needs to be camera-worthy and not every moment needs to be recorded. Enjoy the day and put down the camera;
  • Take out a different camera for fun and just focus on other scenes – details, textures, shadows. There’s good stuff in the small stuff.
Peeling and rusting – Sony RX100

Finding the details again

Sometimes, it’s easy to fall into the trap of wanting every photo to make a big impact. But those magical sunsets full of great colours don’t come around too often. Those moments when the photographic mind and heart are synchronised with the wider world aren’t always available to us. At these times, it’s important to take a step back and access other areas of the photographic process: enjoying the moment, seeing the details.

Peeling and rusting 2 – RX100

Accepting fate and below average photos

Sometimes, even when we dig into another bag of tricks, the photos don’t turn out great. Over time, we develop a sense of taste and curate our photographic output, so what might please someone else won’t please us. Part of the creative journey is developing taste and deciding which photos meet our taste standards to become the ones that really make an impact.

The remaining, less than stellar, photos are still important because they’re part of the journey to get to the photos that meet a well-developed artistic taste. Some days are about honing the eye and sensibility. Not every photo is going to be a winner and that’s OK. In fact, it needs to happen, otherwise things get boring and you don’t sharpen your eye, your imagination, your taste, and your art.

Waterbirds on twisted branches – RX100

Flowers, trees, and Chihuly

In my previous post, I didn’t have a lot to say, other than to talk about the sculptures of Dale Chihuly. Turns out, I still don’t have a lot to say, so I’ll let the sculptures speak for themselves. Sometimes, we need the contemplative therapy that photography can provide.

Float Boat and Niijima Floats by Dale Chihuly, 2012 – 2019 – Nikon D40

How shiny are those polyvitro baubles? Even on a cloudy day those colours really pop. By now, I’ve resigned myself to the idea that old CCD cameras like the Nikon D40 just seem tuned to produce punchy and colourful photos, even when set to RAW.

Magenta Flowers – Nikon D40

As lovely as the sculptures are, the gardens are full of opportune moments for one with a camera. Luckily, the flowers were in bloom.

The Sun by Dale Chihuly, 2014 – Nikon D40

The Sun really exemplifies Chihuly’s installation – an explosion of powerful colours spreading dynamically in all directions.

The original sculpture, green in all directions – Nikon D40

Out on the street again

In my previous post, I went out with the Nikon D40 and made some street photos. Even though it’s an enjoyable experience, street photography can also be tiring if not in the right frame of mind. I find that placing too much pressure on myself to make good photos can take a lot away from the experience. And out in the street where you need to be alert to interesting scenes that may last mere moments, missing one can lead to frustration.

Gathering before busking – Nikon D40

As much as that experience can lead to moments of regret at having not been quick enough on the shutter button, going down that path simply leads to more frustration and lack of joy. There are so many moments on the street that it’s always possible to find another. In simple terms: don’t get stuck in a moment missed because you’ll have just missed another moment.

Fresh milk and soft toys – Nikon D40 with Tamron 17-50 2.8

What do we do as photographers?

A photographer collaborates with the world to make a photo of a moment that never repeats. As much as there’s pressure to record all of the moments that pass so quickly, the photographer also brings the attention of others to a framed moment in time. In doing so, the photographer creates an awareness in others of the larger world we inhabit. And how often do we inhabit it without much care for the present moment?

In this context, street photography is like being in a whirlpool of moments. That’s both exciting and potentially exhausting if the pangs of regret haunt us too easily when the camera and the moment don’t quite line up. In those cases, better to accept the passing moment and move into a new moment with open eyes and mind. And have we really missed a moment if we haven’t recorded it?

Celebration and relief after a street performance – Nikon D40

Red paint and contemplation

In my previous post, I wrote about driving through some of the towns along the Murray River. We’ve been here many times but I’ve often found myself uninspired in the photography department, though I’m not entirely sure why. Going for a day-trip with friends is always fun, but sometimes it doesn’t lend itself to me spending time fiddling with camera settings or framing scenes! This time was different though. I found myself with the trusty Olympus E-1 again and looking for the kinds of scenes that the old digital sensor can manage more easily.

Red paint and corrugated iron – Olympus E-1

There’s no substitute for time when it comes to photography, at least for me. I’m not one who clicks a thousand photos in an hour. I prefer to be as deliberate as possible. Admittedly, using an old camera like the E-1 teaches me to slow down even more to carefully consider the scene before me. That’s a good thing, I think.

Red paint and old wood – Olympus E-1

How often is it that we don’t get to slow down and really look at the world around us? How often are we pre-occupied with thoughts of the forever-gone past or the uncertain future? How often do we steal the present moment from ourselves? Once that moment is gone, it’s gone for good.

I like to think that photography has the capacity to teach us something about the hidden details of the world that are ordinarily missed. When I first started teaching myself how to use a DSLR, I turned to a practice called Contemplative Photography, or Miksang.

On such occasions, I found myself a little more in touch with both my mind and the world, with inner and outer touching at the very boundaries, one might say. At these times, there’s no judgement of a scene, just an image pressing gently on the mind, as though it leaps out of the water like a fish to be seen momentarily. There’s no setting up or messing with technology beyond what the eye sees and the press of the button. And arguably, the camera itself is not even needed to see those hidden details in the world.

All the red envelops you in this moment – Olympus E-1

Diffuse sunlight – experimenting with cheap plastic and dreamy filters

For all of the great cameras and sharp glass on the shelves, it’s liberating to play around with low-tech options sometimes. Maybe there’s a scene in front of you with great lighting but a subject that has been overdone? Maybe you’re gear-fatigued and just want to try something else? Do you know what I do when I’m a bit exhausted with tech and sharp lenses? I put something cheap in front of the camera lens to see what happens…

Dreams of green cool – Nikon Z5 with cheap plastic

The time of day was right and the leaves were catching golden light but I was weary of the same tired approach. Sharpness is a state of mind! Great photos have been made with the most primitive film boxes. So, instead of doing the usual, I pulled out a flexible piece of clear plastic and stuck it in front of the sharp Z glass. As you can see, it pulls the light in different directions when moved about. After some Split Toning, Vibrance, and a decrease in Clarity, the photo has a nice dreamy look.

Dreams of a glassy sun – Nikon Z5 with Diffusion Filter and cheap plastic

Diffusion filters are a good idea when you want some highlight blooming and a softer tone to a photo. Though the Tiffen Black Mist Pro filter tends to be the top of the price and quality pile, my feeling is that dreaminess can be found in even cheaper materials. I purchased the K&F Concept Black Diffusion filter and it does just fine.

The sun photos were both made with the Black Diffusion filter in place. There’s some nice blooming around the sun, but that’s pretty much obscured by the use of the cheap plastic I used for the photo of the trees. Details are hidden, contrast is lowered, and only bright shapes remain.

A distant sun barely warms – Nikon Z5 with Black Diffusion Filter and cheap plastic

A remembrance of old cameras and simple joys

I came across an old Flickr group about a long obsolete and out of production Finepix camera. The discussion thread there is now abandoned and filled with hopeful posts from beginner photographers, posts from film camera veterans excited about the possibilities of digital photography, and people considering the merits and costs of upgrading to a DSLR.

Sony RX100

Some people questioned why the group was becoming less active, with people theorising that the marketing cycle of cameras and the forced obsolescence of models was resulting in formerly active members moving on to bigger and better cameras, the lure of more megapixels ever-present. Some others were steadfast in their dedication to a camera that permitted them to fall in love with photography as a hobby, sure that they’d never need any more than 5 or 6 megapixels. As you can imagine, there’s a little camera history in those threads, underpinned by melancholy.

Finepix Flickr group
Early morning walk – Sony RX100

The joy of discovering photography is reflected in those discussions, as well as the spin-cycle of marketing, upgrades, and feature-creep. Isn’t there often a sense of doubt kindled in us by big manufacturers so that we’ll buy the latest gadget? This is part of the reason why I like old digicams. It’s not that I think there’s some long-forgotten, superior image making technology buried in CCD sensors, or that those cameras are more capable than cameras of today, but that old cameras still feed the joy of photography. In this sense, they are relevant.

Seen better days – Nikon Z5

The truth is that people were making interesting photos using simple box cameras a hundred years ago. People still make arresting photos using old cameras now. The act of photography is the recording of an image to a medium, whether that’s film emulsion or software output via digital sensor and SD card. Photography is about seeing the world afresh and inhabiting the moment.

Standing alone – Sigma DP2M

Botanicals and the Biophilia Hypothesis – Sony RX100

In my current, seemingly endless and potentially dull, blogging about the little Sony RX100 Mark 1 camera, I’ve realised that I really enjoy using old cameras. Not exclusively old cameras, mind, but just older cameras when the mood strikes. The very idea that I’d upgrade as soon as the latest fancy-glitter-megapixel thing hits the shelves is tedious. The whole thing is exhausting, really. It’s also why I’m excited to receive an old Nikon D70 in the post.

The sunny edges we miss

There’s some science behind the nurturing properties of spending time in nature, with reports that subjective well-being is elevated, even for people with depression and anxiety. Many people report feeling recharged when they spend time in nature, be it walking through the local forest or walking along the beach. The Biophilia Hypothesis posits that humans are innately attracted to natural places and living areas filled with biodiversity. By seeking out this connection, we truly get back to who we are as living beings.

A world of green

Have you ever wondered why stress levels are so high in urban environments? The further away we are from nature and our natural selves, the greater our risk of developing a wide range of physical and mental health problems. Even something as simple as exposure to natural light each day can promote better sleep and improved subjective well-being. And the addition of green spaces to urban areas is linked with lower levels of stress.

Bamboo in the sun

We all need connection

What would it be like to see our planet from the deep cold of space? Some astronauts report their lives being significantly changed and their views transformed after seeing earth from this unique angle. The Overview Effect is a transformative state of mind that affects some astronauts. They report that after viewing our planet suspended in the depths of space, they develop not just a new appreciation for beauty, but a deep connection to all life.

Our small blue planet, from this point of view, is incredibly fragile and special – an oasis in a cold, black vacuum. There may indeed be billions of planetary star systems out there, but we’ll likely never reach them as even the closest is impossibly distant, and beyond the reach of the best rocket science, unless there’s a sudden shift in our understanding of time and space. So, rather than pollute the sea and soil beneath our feet, we should imagine our planet as a tiny blue speck, teeming with life, finite and fragile.