The practice of photography can sometimes be a true exercise of patience.
Of course, in some cases, one has to be very quick to capture a candid pose, a fleeting moment or an action in real-time. A lot of the time, though, a carefully composed photograph requires waiting for the elements you imagined to come together, or crowds to disperse. The scene is there, in front of you and in your mind, but you have to carve it out and freeze it just the way you want it to look in the photograph.
Of course, in some cases, one has to be very quick to capture a candid pose, a fleeting moment or an action in real-time. A lot of the time, though, a carefully composed photograph requires waiting for the elements you imagined to come together, or crowds to disperse. The scene is there, in front of you and in your mind, but you have to carve it out and freeze it just the way you want it to look in the photograph.
And for someone whose strongest suit isn't patience (ahem! hi!), this can be a therapeutic exercise!
Here are just 5 of the (many) photographs where I remember having to be really patient.
La Cubana (Havana, Cuba). I took 18 variations of this composition. The first couple were just of the empty square. My eye is always drawn to architectural details, so that scene was interesting enough for me. The repetition of doorways, the lintels and columns, the rough texture of the decaying walls, the contrasting colors of the painted doors and fresh laundry, the broken balustrade revealing a touch of sky.
But then, she appeared. From the tip of the square, she caught my eye. Her hat, her off-the-shoulders top, the way her skirt swayed when she walked, her assured step, her shadow cast by the beating midday sun... Her presence anchored the eye, and tied together the whole scene. My shutter followed her across the square, until I settled on this variation. A sense of movement, frozen, hanging, like those of the linens. A sense of character, like that of the aging building.
It may have taken over a quarter of an hour, standing there, repeating the procedure over and over again, to finally capture La Cubana.
But then, she appeared. From the tip of the square, she caught my eye. Her hat, her off-the-shoulders top, the way her skirt swayed when she walked, her assured step, her shadow cast by the beating midday sun... Her presence anchored the eye, and tied together the whole scene. My shutter followed her across the square, until I settled on this variation. A sense of movement, frozen, hanging, like those of the linens. A sense of character, like that of the aging building.
It may have taken over a quarter of an hour, standing there, repeating the procedure over and over again, to finally capture La Cubana.
Alfama (Lisboa, Portugal). Darkened cobblestones and metal tracks, against the pale church façade and the summer sky. The way the tram lines overhead and the tracks on the pavement gracefully curved around the corner, out of sight. The texture of the crumbling paint on the houses. The elegant details of the wrought iron balconies, lampposts and junctions in the tram lines. "Wouldn't it be lovely if a tram came down this way right now?" Well, "right now" may have been a dozen or two dozen minutes later. But, I waited. I studied the light, memorized the composition I wanted. And waited. I can remember my excitement (and relief) when the narrow lane livened up with the sound of its arrival. It was worth it, in the end.
The Perfect Sea (Corfu town, Corfu). It is already a feat to photograph a place when you've only just arrived - jet-lagged, still only beginning to unwind during those first few hours of your long-anticipated European holiday. But when throngs of visitors crowd the scene that you know has a near-perfect symmetry begging to be photographed, it takes some extra willpower to pause, centered, elbows in the air, waiting for every last person and their shadow to clear the frame.
Tramonto veneziano (Venice, Italy). When I am in my beloved Venice, I make sure that I have time. Time to walk, time to watch, time to feel. With a blank schedule, with only a general sense of where I feel like going, I wander. That allows me to wait for a moment that's all mine -- a reflection that no one else waited to see, a lane without people in it, just Venice. And this silhouette of a gondola, its gondoliere and a passenger, crossing a sunbeam of a thousand fiery crystals at dusk.
La Maruzzella (Santa Maria al Bagno, Italy). It was lunchtime and this small town on Italy's heel had paused for lunch. The menu was written on paper tablecloths stretched beneath the elbows of hungry locals and pinned down by decanters of local white wine. As we sat and savored urchins, spaghetti, clams and mussels, the Sea demanded to be thanked. It crept up and up, splashing onto the deck as though it tried to get further and stronger with each slam. I wanted to see it come through the gate. I waited an absurd amount of time to catch it, but it kept falling short of the gate each time. Until, finally, it slammed through.
Do you ever wait long for your pictures? Leave me a comment and let me know!
From my heart to yours.
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