How has your past shaped you?
Two events come to mind: the loss of my father, who died in an accident when I was three years old, and my family's migration to this country when I was ten. Having been raised without a father sensitized me to the loss in others; while adoping a new language and cultural values at a tender age sharpened my powers of observation. When I photograph, I am both an outsider, observing, and an insider, feeling. I can be invisible in a corner of a room, carefully watching, while my empathic self is present with the subject.
In being "present" to another, a sacred bond is formed.
Sacred bond?
When a photographer consciously shares space with a person (or object,) the time spent beomes a form of communion. For me, photography is a spiritual discipline. To be entrusted to distill a moment from that encounter is a sacred privilege. Gaining permission to photograph the subject is often done nonverbally. It is done with body language, eye contact, and an understanding of a shared humanity.
Speak more about this nonverbal permission.
It begins by being fully present, accepting the gifts and losses of the moment, without expectations. The photographer validates the moment by being an open vessel. This allows the subject to feel whole. As the moment evolves, the photographer takes the opportunity to practice compassion. Compassion allows the moment to stay authentic. The photographer is attentive to his subject, if he senses resistance, he lowers the camera, if he feels welcome, he moves closer. With patience, the ordinary becomes profound. The photographer is grounded, and trusts his feelings. And finally, the photographer must honor what he sees.
How do you define this "seeing"?
Light is both a physical and a spiritual entity. Physical light defines objects, allowing us to recognize objects by name, while spiritual light conveys emotional information.
To understand "seeing," I like to make a semantic distinction between "looking" and "seeing." Looking is what we do with our eyes to perceive objects. This allows us to identify colors and navigate around obstacles so we won't bump into things. While "seeing" is what we do to inform ourselves of the object's inner nature. When we silently ask "how does this person feel?" we begin to understand the true nurture of "seeing." This process is beautilully detailed in Carlos Casteneda's book, A Separate Reality.
This form of deep seeing is also practiced by Buddhists, as a meditation called vipashyana, referred to in the West as Insight Meditation. It was developed by the Buddha to help practitioners perceive the true nature of things. Vipashyana is a Sanskrit word which means "to truly see."
As we elevate our ability to process visual information, we move away from looking at life as ordinary, to seeing it as extraordinary.
So "seeing" is a form of "awakening"?
You got it! Yes, to see is to understand, and ultimately is a form of enlightenment. The word to see is linked linguistically to the word idea, whose root is idean–the Greek verb meaning "to see." In English, when someone says "I see" they mean "I understand." When a photographer observes, he is mining the moment for the outer and inner ore. Outer and inner visual realities collaborate in the creation of meaning in the created photograph.
How does "seeing" relate to natural light?
The sun rises and sets daily. During this cycle, the light slowly intensifies, then softly diminishes into darkness. Life or creation is illuminated, then absorbed back into darkness. This pattern of gradual revelation then gradual obscurement, can be likened to a cosmic game of hide and seek–a game of peek-a-boo–life is revealed and concealed daily, affording the photographer a lifetime of "seeing" the world anew, again and again.
Since light is the first item God created, it can be viewed as a link to Divine presence. Ponder the expression "hold it to the light." In this context, light is "truth." When light is shed on an object, its very spirit is revealed. From a theological perspective, this can be perceived as God grafting himself onto that object, or unveiling himself through that person.
"Seeing" for the photographer, is the process of awakening from the mundane, beholding the essence of creation as God must see it. This is a transformative experience, which fills one with wonder and gratitude. Echart Tolle, author of The Power Of Now, describes it this way:
I opened my eyes. The first light of dawn was filtering through the curtains. Without any thought, I felt, I knew, that there is infinitely more to light than we realize. That soft luminosity filtering through the curtains was love itself. Tears came into my eyes. I got up and walked around the room. I recognized the room, and yet I knew that I had never truly seen it before. Everything was fresh and pristine, as if it had just come into existence. I picked up things, a pencil, an empty bottle, marveling at the beauty and aliveness of it all.
How does this relate to the photographer?
A musician works with a scale of notes. A photographer also has a scale–one based on shades of light. In black and white photography it is referred to as "the gray scale." It is a strip that starts with a patch of pure white, followed by progressively darker patches, ending in black. The scale mimics the gradations of light caused by the rise and setting sun.
As the photographer wrestles with what he is offered by the light, he rediscovers his own inner life. How, and how much a photographer perceives, what, and how much he captures from his state of awareness, becomes his signature, and what distinguishes his work from other photographers.
To the extent that the photographer is willing to embrace his own polarities, to look at the light and the dark within himself, and offer the viewer what touches his heart, is the test of his journey as it unfolds with each click of the shutter.
As we expand our ability to see, we change. In turn, all things change when we do. My lifelong task as a photographer is to deepen the "seeing" process.
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