Keep moving!

One of the best things about giving “shoot and critique” workshops is that I get the opportunity to see what participants can make out of a given situation. It’s great to see how different and interesting their visions are-I constantly learn things from my students by observing their photographic vision. But it’s also a great environment for me to be able to give knowledgeable feedback. Over the years, one of the most common themes I’ve seen in my feedback, particularly to beginning photographers, is suggesting that the image might have improved if the photographer had moved a little-whether left, right, forward, back, up or down.

Every movement of the camera and photographer changes the “choreography” of the images, some subjects get bigger, some smaller, and the position of the elements involved changes as well. Perhaps some appear – or disappear – around other objects. The positioning of the objects in the frame changes as well, movement is a powerful photographic tool.

Even small changes in position can make a big difference in an image. Hiking to the top of Skägafoss the day before yesterday, I had some soft light that I thought would work well for long time exposures, creating detail shots at the top of the waterfall that juxtaposed the soft blurred water with textured, solid rock. I’ve included two relatively similar images from that hike here, which were taken only a couple paces from each other, but the change in perspective is significant. In one image the rock at the far side of the waterfall is visible and an important element. In the second, a a few seconds and a few paces later, that rock wall is shifted off the left side of the frame, resulting in a significantly more abstract image.

At the other end of the scale, sometimes it’s possible to make use of much larger movements. Later that same evening, I noticed some interesting rays coming through the clouds in the distance, and several degrees to the side, the Westman Islands (Vestmannaeyjar)  at a similar scale.

I honestly wasn’t sure if this would work, that is, if the two were at different enough differences that I could change their relative perspective easily, but over the next few minutes it became clear that by driving (at about 90 kilometers per hour) back west that I could bring the two together. (The clouds were moving as well, but my own movement seemed to be a greater effect.) I was as surprised as anyone when the rays stuck around for the 15 minutes or so that I continued driving. The last few minutes I started looking for a workable foreground element. I eventually got several shots of the elements together, realizing an image that I had started composing perhaps 15 or 20 miles away.

And that’s the heart of the matter. Learning to see that “this is nice, but there’s probably even a better location over there” before you get there an essential photographic skill.

Watch out for “zooming when you should have moved.” I’m as guilty of this as anyone. All too often, with a tripod set up and the camera in position, it seems a little easier to zoom in on a subject rather than to take a step forward or backward. Sometimes that’s the right choice (of course), and sometimes moving isn’t possible (perhaps there’s a wall in the way, or perhaps the best arrangement could only be captured from a position several feet on the wrong side of a cliff. But sometimes it’s helpful to move in or move out (and perhaps zoom) to, in part, compensate-particularly when this lets you eliminate distracting elements, or to get a better proportion of the size of the elements in the image.

If you like this article, you can now get the book! Joe has expanded the “Tuesday Composition” series into an inspiring new ebook on composition, especially for nature photography. Check it out: The Tuesday Composition.

A while back we talked about visual echoes–and we primarily focused on repetitions of two similar or contrasting objects. Today I’m going to revisit that topic with a greater emphasis on repetition generally, whether two, eleven or a million similar image elements.  If you didn’t get a chance to read the echoes post, I suggest going back and and reading it now, many of the ideas in today’s post will relate to and reflect on the ideas I presented there.

Repetition is a powerful and amazingly versatile tool.

One of my favorite uses of repetition in composition is in simplifying an image. In general, images with many kinds of disparate elements can be harder for the viewer to make sense of–put enough elements together and you take away an easy sense of what elements of the image are important, dominant.

Repeating patterns in an image can help organize all of those elements into a pattern that’s easier for the viewer to understand. Salt Polygons at Sunrise has hundreds of elements, but our eye quickly integrates the underlying pattern of the salt polygons and makes sense of what’s going on in the image. A random collection of that many disparate elements in an image would feel much more chaotic. (Of course, that might be what you want, but more often, my own work tends towards less chaotic.)

Like visual echoes, repetitions of similar objects can guide us to compare and/or contrast the elements in the image. This is a particularly crucial part of  Clouds Forming in Alpenglow. While the repeated pattern in the mountain peaks does simplify the image a bit, the repeated pattern of the clouds is far more important.  A single diagonal cloud would tell the viewer very little about the dynamics of what’s going on behind that cloud; however, three clouds each moving in a parallel direction away from the repeated peaks in the image presents a much deeper question as to what’s going on. In this case, that pattern isn’t an accident, the clouds are literally being formed downwind of the peaks, and the blurred cloud motion helps to confirm that fact.

Salt Polygons also compares repeated elements, and “shows us” depth and scale as a result. We “see” the repetition of polygons, we compare them and (subconsciously) notice them recede as we move up the image (as well as change in shape), and we quickly and intuitively grasp that we’re looking across a vast, flat plane of these polygons.

Finally, one can strengthen the power of repetition by putting the repeated elements into a line, and making use of the special   properties of lines and edges that we’ve talked about in earlier posts.  Dawn Migration and Tabular Iceberg provides a very simplistic example, comparing and contrasting the repeated, blurred bird images in this print becomes more interesting as our eye is guided through the composition by the lines of the flock.

Beyond a certain number of repeated elements, our repetitions often lose their their independent existence and begin to take on the sense of a single object, a rhythm, a texture. My sand dune abstracts, such as Desert Rhythms VIII, contain a number of examples of that idea. Even short of these extremes, though, a rhythm, that is, a repetition not only of elements but of distances between the elements, strengthens the power of repeating elements and helps unify them into a single visual element.

With all these possibilities, compositional repetition is an important tool for creating powerful and effective images.

If you like this article, you can now get the book! Joe has expanded the “Tuesday Composition” series into an inspiring new ebook on composition, especially for nature photography. Check it out: The Tuesday Composition.

As we discussed last week, centered compositions often describe or emphasize a relationship between one half of an image and another. “What’s similar between these two?”  “What’s different?”  These compositions succeed because the image itself provides the answer to this questions. Reflections are a simple example of this,  answering  “it’s all the same”, making the relationship between the reflection and the reflected object a subject of the photograph.

But simple reflections and symmetries aren’t the only place (by far) where images take on life because of visual relationships we create between parts of an image. I refer to these visual relationships “echoes.”  These visual echoes, like reflections, invite us to compare and contrast. But they can take on others forms as well, based on correspondences between line, form, texture and/or color.

Simple repetitions of line and form are the easiest echoes to notice. Backlit Foliage, North Falls practically screams a simple relationship between two branches with their almost-reflected Y-shapes. Besides the visually appealing aspect of that reflection, the similarity between the two branching points instantly makes the connection between them. We don’t have to think “out loud” that they are the same tree, we simply know it by observing the relationship (as well as their physical  proximity). Few if any viewers of this image will ever say to themselves “these two branches are part of the same plant,” but the message comes through nonetheless.

Because we assimilate visual echoes so intuitively, they are often a great tool for simplifying an image. Afternoon Light Shafts, Snæfellsnes Peninsula uses this effect. The four or five light shafts echo each other so directly that we think of them much less as individual shafts (shaft A and shaft B and shaft C…) than we do as “a group of shafts”, each only mildly differentiated by their contrast, brightness and slope.

Consider a hypothetical image with a group of five very different things– in shape, form, color and line–it would be far more complex, it would be, well, messy.  This isn’t.

Visual echoes can also be effective when they establish a relationship between different kinds of things. The result is usually a compositional simile. Rock Bubbles illustrates this, finding a similarity primarily between the texture of the rock and the textures in the cloud above. Composing the image so that those textures (as well as the close curves of each near the other) echo each other highlights not only that similarity, but also the contrasts in color (yellow vs. blue),  tone (light clouds vs. dark bubbles), and weight (light clouds vs. heavy rock). The echo here invites us into all these comparisons.

Echoes do not need to be as obvious as these.  Pond and Drake’s Estero, Point Reyes works largely because of a visual echo–but rather than being so direct, the primary visual relationship between the pond and the estuary is simply that it’s an enclosed area. (That they are both enclosed areas of water helps the comparison along. Once the visual echo has provoked us to compare the pond with the estuary, we see the different levels of contrast and saturation between the two, and immediately perceive differences in distances (and sizes, as well). The enormous difference in the distances between us and those two subjects really highlights the depth and scale of this mountain vista. This weak echo helps us “read” a greater sense of distance and size into the image.

Again, these ideas are rarely things I thought about explicitly when I was out photographing. Pond and Drake’s Estero was a quick, grab shot I made during a photo workshop I was giving in Pt. Reyes. I found the image intuitively. Understanding these ideas is just part of the process of building your own intuition and vision.

(In my three-part introduction to photographing Death Valley (part 2, part 3), I noted that I wanted to spend some time talking about techniques for photographing cactus, my apologies for the delay in getting that finished for you.  I hope it was worth the wait!)

Cacti astonish me. The desert air can be dessicating, a sponge pulling every drop of water out of everything around it, and yet many of these plants have evolved to survive and even thrive in these harsh environments.

For the photographer, cacti offer interesting forms, patterns and texture from their spines, and color from the occasional desert bloom.

When I think of cactus and the desert, the first thing that comes to mind are the giant Saguaros, iconic symbols of the Old West. Saguaro can reach over 40 feet in height, although most adult specimens aren’t quite so tall. Saugaro National Park, located near Tucson, Arizona is a great location to get started photographing these giant wonders and the Sonoran desert in as well.

Monsoon season light often offers some of the most interesting potential for saguaro photographs: silhouettes of their classic shapes set against colorful sunsets.  There are a couple tricks to realizing that vision, though.  First, spend some time looking for a saguaro and an angle that gives you a clean, uncluttered silhouette, it’s too easy for lower plants or other saguaro to interfere with the composition. Second, don’t assume (as I mistakenly did at least once) that the Saguaro are as stable as (say), a more conventional tree trunk. In windy, stormy weather you will see the tops of the cactus move, which can lead to blurry silhouettes. Adjust your exposure accordingly.

If you want to capture more of the texture of large cacti such as saguaro, side-lighting (or, in a pinch, back-lighting with fill-flash) can also be very effective.

Spines of cactus are another source of interest in almost any variety of succulent. The prickly nature of most desert cacti and succulents helps the cactus in two ways: not only does it offer protection in an environment where both food and water are harder to come by, but for some species the spines also they also offer some degree of shade and cooling as well.  These spines are typically deployed in repetitive pattern, and are therefore an endless source of macro photo opportunities.

In broader shots, these spines will tend to get a little lost in front-lit scenes, but in backlit scenes–particularly for plants with denser spine forests such as  cholla–something magic happens. The blanket of spines picks up a glow, outlining the often-silhouetted form of the cactus itself. These sorts of shots can work particularly well when the sun is low but you can place the cactus against the landscape, typically hills or mountains in the background. (Don’t forget to keep a careful eye out for lens flare.)

A caution on cactus spines, the spines of most species are barbed. Avoid any sort of unprotected contact with cactus spines, particularly with most species of cholla. I once had the opportunity to watch as a friend stooped down to photograph and to put it delicately, backed into a desert cholla. (It’s not clear whether the embarassment or the pain of having to have the spines removed with pliers was worse.)

One of the stranger and more interesting artifacts you’re likely to come across in photographing nature is the sunstar. You’ve probably seen the effect, or one like it, where bright points of light. While many of these effects are the result of ::amazon(“B00004ZCDV”, “specialized star filters”)::, effects like this are, in some situations, easy to create without a filter due to a strange quirk in the physics of light, the phenomena of diffraction. Fortunately, you don’t need a degree in physics to get sunstars in your own photos, just a few simple tips.

There are just two primary elements to any sunstar, a bright point of light, and a very tiny (and not perfectly round) lens aperture.

First, there’s the matter of the light source. While it can be any light source that is much brighter than it’s surroundings, typically the sun or a bright electric light in a night scene. Even the sun, which is about a half-degree in diameter, is really too broad a light source for the best sunstar effect. You can get stronger effects such as the image shown here by blocking most of the sun with another object, letting only a sliver of the sun’s light into the camera, such as the angle formed by a couple branches in this image. Looking into the sun, you could first be very careful to protect your eyes by not looking through the viewfinder (an electronic viewfinder is useful here). As you’re pointing your camera into the sun, you’ll also want to be careful to minimize other forms of lens flare (and the image here has a few bad bits of it), be sure your optics are clean and that you remove any unnecessary filters before shooting.

Second, there’s the matter of the aperture. Diffraction happens when light passes very very close to an object, such as the edge of the lens aperture, the smaller the lens aperture (that is, the higher the f-number), when the aperture is large, most of the light coming into the camera is relatively far from the edge of the aperture, but as you stop down more and more, a larger and larger fraction of the light coming through the lens passes very close to the lens iris. So, to get a sunstar, you’ll want to stop down to the smallest aperture you have available to you, this sample shot was taken at f/22, if I’d had f/32 on the lens I was shooting with, I would have used that instead. The number of points in the star is related to the number of segments that make up the lens aperture, this fourteen-point star is the result of a seven blade aperture. (An even number of blades will create the same number of points in a sunstar, and odd number of blades will create a sunstar with twice as many points as blades.)

That’s it! Get as thin a sliver of sunlight as you can, stop down as far as you can, and enjoy!

In my last installment, I discussed some of the joys and challenges of photographing lightning. One of the tools I use to capture images of lightning is Stepping Stone Products’ Lightning Trigger which is particularly valuable for daylight lightning captures.

The way the Trigger works is simple. Attach the device to the camera hot shoe (for stability, the Trigger is powered by battery, not from the camera itself) and connect it to your camera’s electronic cable release terminal. When switched on, a forward-pointing sensor will keep an electronic eye out for quick flashes of light, when it detects one, it’ll trigger the camera. Assuming the lightning substrokes persist long enough (strokes of about a tenth of a second may occur as much as a half-second after the first visual sign of lightning), your camera should be able to capture the action.

Stepping Stone creates the connecting cables by modifying standard manufacturer cable releases, separating each into two pieces with a jack. Both are provided, so you can use the cables either with the Trigger or as a manual cable release.

I found the Trigger easy to use and remarkably sensitive. Because it does not know the field of view of your camera (focal length, sensor size, etc.) it may trigger at times where there’s no lightning “in the frame”, but I rarely, if ever, had the Trigger fail to fire when there was lightning in frame.

This wide-angle image of an entire thunderhead over the Painted Desert in Petrified Forest National Park is an extreme example. Don’t look too closely, you won’t see the lightning stroke below the thunderhead here, it’s about 3% of the frame height, and well over ten miles from the camera, showing up with only moderate contrast even at 100% pixels on the original 21MP image. But the Lightning Trigger caught it, in full daylight. Very impressive.

The Trigger comes with complete instructions and suggestions for use, and those instructions are important. To capture lightning, your camera will have to respond very quickly once the Trigger tells it to shoot, you’ll want to configure your camera (manual exposure and focus, for example) to reduce this shutter lag to a minimum. The manual also contains an excellent set of safety warnings, I recommend investing the time to read these in detail. No photograph is worth risking your life for.

At a handful of ounces of weight (even including battery, cable and carrying case) it’s light enough to include in your pack when lightning is even a possibility. It’s powered by a single 9-volt battery, and sells for $329, plus another $55-$75 for the (required) cable release. While not an impulse buy, the Trigger is, for me, an essential tool for capturing lightning across the landscape.

Highly recommended.