It took me a while. Almost a year, in fact. But finally, I’m inspired again. I wake up (way too) early for sunrises, I stare out of the office window longingly for sunsets, and I take some time off a lazy weekend to go outside to shoot some birds in the neighborhood. I have my mojo back. But what happened last year?
After returning from Norway (see the last posts for that one), it took me a long while to go through the photos and write about the trip. I was too tired, too exhausted to think about the trip or the pictures. In fact, it took me months to finish processing and writing. When spring arrived last year, I had no inspiration left. I barely took my camera anywhere. Summer came and went. I took pictures, but I wasn’t feeling it. Everything just seemed ‘meh’. Even images that in hindsight are pretty nice felt like crap at the time. I had lost my way.
Looking at my collection, I have way less pictures from last year than any previous. And most of the pictures I do have are from Norway. How could Finland, and especially my little boring corner of Finland, compare to Lofoten? Thinking on it, having my Lofoten and Senja pictures constantly visible as my laptop screensaver probably didn’t help with the melancholy.
I wish I knew what finally snapped me out of it so I can do that sooner next time. But trying to find images for this post, I remember two moments from last year that stand out. And both involve a random animal encounter. Now, the pictures aren’t very good; I was out of practice and messed up the settings on both. But I did get something.
The first one was in late August and I was out at the cottage. Out of old habit, my camera hang off my shoulder (you never know, right?). I saw a dark spot moving in the corner of my eye, above some reeds. I didn’t see what it was, but it caught my attention so I went to take a closer look. I couldn’t see anything, but three ducks I had seen earlier in the same spot had started panicking. And I knew. I lifted my camera and waited. A minute later, a big harrier (Western marsh harrier to be exact) burst forth from the trees to try to grab a duck. It missed, but I didn’t. Much.
After that day, something in me changed. I slowly started trying again. I drove out to the usual spots a few times in search of sunset colors. The topmost photo is the only decent one of the bunch, but it was something. That wasn’t the second trigger though; that was another chance encounter, a few hundred meters from my apartment building. I was out taking potshots at small birds late in November, during one of the few sunny days we had during the lovely (not really) early winter. I was crouched in a bush, trying to get a few Blackbirds to pose for me beside a small stream that runs through the area, when I saw something I’d never though I’d see in the city. A mink. I don’t know if it was just passing through or if it lives here. I’ve never seen it before, and haven’t seen it since. But I did get a picture.
Winter arrived along with the typical darkness, smothering all hope of taking pictures outside. December in Turku is typically wet, dark and miserable, and this year wasn’t any different. But in January, we got finally got snow. And with the snow and sunny days, I started feeling strange urges. Against my better judgement, during multiple days, I set my alarm clock to ring earlier than it had any right to. I put on a lot of clothes, packed my bag, and went in search for sunrise photos.
Of course, when you actually start trying, you’ll find that nature can be a cruel mistress. I didn’t get light a single time I went out. Those beautiful pink still mornings? Nowhere to be seen. But I can be a bit pigheaded with these things, and took pictures anyway. I worked with what I had. I took my time and thought about composition. I pre-planned locations, times and angle of light. And even though the vast majority of pictures aren’t worthy of an audience, I did it again and again.
I was hoping for 1) mist to cover the back trees or 2) beautiful colors in the sky, or 3) anything. But I learned what works and what doesn’t. And to not rush things.
Going out to try, even though I had no guarantees to get anything, was the best thing I’ve done for myself for a long, long time. Standing on the golf course above, an hour before sunrise, composition ready, waiting for the light, and with such absolute stillness and silence around me is one of the best memories I have of the whole year. It doesn’t matter that the pictures didn’t turn out the way I wanted; I still have something to remember the experience with. And I think all that practice taught me a few things.
Oftentimes, as much as you plan, you don’t get anything. Sometimes, you get something completely different to what you expect. A very, very cold day late January I took a good friend skiing to a nearby nature reserve. Turns out it’s no fun skiing in almost -20 degrees, so I only had about one and a half hour for my own thing. The plan was to take a panorama of the snow-covered marsh, with a snow-covered forest as a wall in the distance. A simple but effective image that represents the Finnish winter perfectly. I ended up getting distracted pretty quickly. And I’m glad I did.
These sort of crystals only form when it’s very cold. I typically don’t have extension tubes with me, but this time I did. And I definitely did not notice the out of focus reflection until I lined up the twig in my viewfinder. But as soon as I saw it, the training kicked in; I must’ve spent 10 minutes just lining up the branch, my tripod and the background. I took dozens of pictures with different focus and different apertures to get what I wanted. I knocked the branch multiple times, making me wait for it to stop swinging. I was so worried I had destroyed the ice crystals each and every time i messed up. But I didn’t. And I produced a proper Photograph, for the first time in almost a year.
After that photo, it feels like the flood gates have opened. I go out multiple times a week. I think about composition, I plan ahead and I make sure I’m not rushed. I’ve found a calmness I can’t remember having, ever. Luckily, that also works well with the Finnish winter. I feel like I’ve been able to capture the cold serenity I experienced. Not by chance, but skill.
But the pictures aren’t the point. What’s way, way more important is I now reserve time for myself, to be outside, to enjoy nature once again. I don’t care that there aren’t any mountains, any fjords, any racing rivers. I can appreciate the nature around me for what it is. The pictures from the last few weeks are some of the best I have ever taken. But they are nothing compared to once again having opened my eyes and seeing the world around me. I hope I never loose that again.
