Stay Home
In turbulent times, it’s crucial to get grounded. We need a strong anchor and stories of our own. My longest journey has come while winding my way back home, and a camera has been my guide.
As photographers, I really think we do our best work in those places we’re most familiar with. It needn’t be your street address, it’s just where you feel at home. Where rocks and grasses talk to you. Or maybe it’s that place or places you really hope to find. And “grounding” might literally mean exploring what’s at your feet!
Close your eyes, think landscapes, and say “home.” What do you see? What are the elements in that scene? Whatever your place, try to learn its lives and its seasons. Start a calendar in your mind.
Take, say, oak woodland. Some things I’d ask are: When do those oaks leaf out in bright, aching spring greens, and when do those greens dull down? How does their dappled shade cast shifting sunspots on a hot August day? Can you hear the acorn woodpeckers’ raucous calls? Will the wild grape arbors amidst their branches glow red and gold in fall—like stained glass—when backlit? Do their jigsaw leaves spill onto your path when blown down in winter’s first blast? Can rain and frost enhance those colors or mute them? And how will the bare, twisted branches look when silhouetted against a fiery winter sunrise?
I don’t buy the idea that “It’s all been done before.” But even if that’s true, so what? The air we all breathe is yours, too. So are the clouds. If your passion is Yosemite, go to Yosemite! Yes, there’s already a long history of fine photographers at home there. Maybe you’ll be next.
But…Suppose that with closed eyes you see a salt marsh with shorebirds, chaparral in bloom, or even the tangled lot that’s down the street and by the creek. These can be your places, too, filled with your own personal “icons.” Like sage, ceanothus, or the fractal designs of dried seedpods. Or oaks. Some worlds seem too quiet for these times and are lost daily beneath the pavement. They could really use our voices…and our cameras. And it’s a two-way street: we help save them, then they save us.
If you really look at landscapes, you’ll fall in love, and then photos will find you everywhere. The ordinary becomes extraordinary. Trees, hills, and streams are now your signposts and your own map and compass, pointing the way back home.
By Scott Atkinson
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