Waiting for the image.

Being in the right place at the right time makes a huge difference when crafting a photograph (as is standing in the right place).  One of the photographers we watch on YouTube, Ben Horne (thanks Len for pointing him out to us), does large format photography and he sets up his camera and then waits and waits for the light to be just right (often, reflected canyon light).  Charlie Waite  stayed in the same location in France for several days, camera perched on the ladder he brings with him on his travels, before the light was just right to make an image.  Finally, on the day before he had to head home to England, the light he had been waiting for appeared, and only for a moment.  He had his image.  On the other hand, one can  take the Edward Weston approach that, while you’re waiting hours for things to be just right, I’ll be out making a dozen other photographs.   Despite that equally valid differing position, the waiting for the right conditions (or a cloud to move, or a person to leave the scene, or the horse to look up) approach can really pay off.  That’s generally our reasoning for getting to places in early morning light, or heading out to Bandon or Seal Rock when it’s low tide at sunrise - we want to try to have the best conditions possible to make strong images.

That same idea applies to revisiting places over and over.  Locations change from winter to spring to summer to fall . . . .  The same trees and rock wall features in Yosemite (or the Lamar Valley, or the Painted Hills) are vastly different under snow than they are in Spring bloom.  There’s merit for revisiting locations and doing so with intention regarding the season, time and place.

So recently, on our early morning walks we’ve come to appreciate the growth at the farms around us.  I’ve posted about our morning walks earlier this summer, but recently Ann and I have been appreciating how one unassuming field was becoming very interesting in early morning light.  Now, all we usually have with us is our cell phones, and one morning we pulled them out and I made a test image.

Ann, of course, made her own test images.

A couple of days later, we had a mid-morning appointment in town so we decided to sleep in an extra hour and were fortunate enough to catch the first light of the day raking across the grasses in that field, grasses wet with dew.  Ann pulled out her phone and made the following test image that convinced her that it would be great to photograph that field with that light using our good cameras.

So that afternoon we packed up a light kit with a range of lenses and had the bags waiting with our tripods for the next morning that had clear skies.  Whenever that first opportunity arose, we would time our walk for the sunlight, even if it’s a workday.

Unfortunately, the next day gave us rain, which meant no images.  And the weather forecast told us that the rain would be followed by a couple of days of clouds, but that on Saturday we should have clear skies first thing in the morning.  So on our walks each of the cloudy mornings morning we’d pause by the field and discuss what directions Ann wanted to photograph into, which clumps of grasses looked the most interesting, what backgrounds might be nice, which lens should she use.  All in preparation for the fact that breaking sunlight doesn’t last long, and dew dries up quickly once the sun hits.

Saturday comes, we’re up early and bingo - we see stars in the sky.  Excited, we have our coffee, change into walking clothes and head out in the pre-dawn light, cameras and tripods in tow.

The conditions seem perfect, with thin low-lying mist that will burn off quickly, leaving water droplets on the grasses that will reflect the light. We anxiously approached the field only to find . . .

. . . that we had failed to inform the farmer that we wanted to photograph his field.

Sometimes even waiting doesn’t give you the image you envision.