I relate to your words - "It’s about the moment I decided to stop" - Walking on my own with a camera in hand encourages a mindful focus to look around rather than just look ahead. You see and sense of scene around you that somehow makes you "stop" to capture the moment.
Beautifully put. That’s exactly what I meant—the camera shifts us from just moving forward to actually being present. Walking with it in hand turns looking into seeing, and those little stops become moments of mindfulness as much as photography.
I was driving home one night after a long shift mixing sound on the local television news - my day job, this would have been about 11 pm and I saw a car crash on the opposite carriageway. Nothing unusual there but on closer inspection it was two identical red cars and one had clearly ended up on top of the other. I stopped and asked the recovery driver if he could wait ten minutes while I went home and fetched a camera. Money changed hands, he waited. When I got back I shot a selection of images and drove back into town to the newspaper offices. Having been shooting for them freelance for some time I knew the entry code and where to find the duty photographer. I told him what I had and we got the film developed and printed up in about ten minutes. Their b&w negative processing was automated, exposed film in one end, ready to print negs after about three minutes. Running the film through the enlarger we picked the best frames, printed up some 10 x 8" prints, they used Ilford multigrade, and I left him to deal with the editors. Printed in all three local newspapers! Payment was by the square inch and I am pleased to say I more than covered my £10 investment. It does pay to stop and look.
What a story, Murray! I love how your experience brings out the exact same truth I was writing about—that moment of deciding to stop. In your case, it was dramatic and newsworthy, in mine it might just be a quiet postbox on the street, but the essence is the same. Photography so often begins not with the camera, but with the choice to pause.
And your anecdote also shows how those pauses can ripple outward—what started as you simply noticing, led to images printed in three newspapers and shared with an entire community. A perfect reminder that stopping, looking, and being ready can change everything.
Thank you Tomasz, I'm just writing a post about how a chance meeting with a musician led to a photograph. It will be live tomorrow if you would like to read it. The title is The man with the saw.....
Yes, beautifully said. For me it’s not only about attention but also about curiosity—the camera keeps me asking questions of the world. What’s here? What happens if I look closer? What does this moment want to reveal? In that way, it’s both a prosthesis and a compass, extending attention but also directing it into places I might otherwise overlook.
In my opinion, each of us instinctively stops when we encounter something unexpected and overlooked. For example, once I had walked about San Francisco, and suddenly I saw this https://pulsepx.com/photo/nSx5vBP67xX?type=brand.
Isn't it like your postbox? Every time I look at this photo, I think about why I made it at that time, and the only answer I find is 'this is a photographer's instinct'.
I wonder, sometimes, whether photography styles sit on some sort of spectrum from the Daido Moriyama type at one end (literally point and shoot indiscriminately) to the likes of Gregory Crewdson at the other (where ever aspect of the final image is constructed and controlled) and, if so, is where we sit on that spectrum a choice or an inevitability.
That’s a great way to see it, Paul. I think we each lean naturally toward one end, but curiosity lets us move along the spectrum—sometimes embracing chaos, other times seeking control.
It’s also the urge to bring that moment home or elsewhere. You see a mail box, it makes you feel something, that feeling is strong enough to force you to capture and bring it with you. And once you’re back at your destination, you look at that image, relive that moment, and feel that same thing all over again.
You have an interesting and important thought here.
Interruptions as you describe fit well those who photograph while going about their lives. It is different for those who photograph like authors write, painters paint etc. I believe.
Nearly all of my photography is of women arranging themselves for portraits or artistic nudes, etc with a relaxed consciousness to our process. A pseudo-Dionysian meditative state ideally.
In some ways, I think of my mother's ability to float in a calm sea and how we can align ourselves in harmony with the sea's movement. We are aware of the fish, waves, seagulls etc around but find ourselves suspended at the same time.
So, perhaps there are multiple types of consciousness which enable us to connect and express that connection visually.
Tomasz, I interpret the feeling you describe as grown from the practice of photography as cultivating an awareness of the moment. You’ve trained yourself to notice such things. You manifest what Dorothea Lange noted, “The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera.”
Camera as attention prosthesis
Yes, exactly. That phrase captures it perfectly. The camera extends our noticing—like an extra limb for attention.
I relate to your words - "It’s about the moment I decided to stop" - Walking on my own with a camera in hand encourages a mindful focus to look around rather than just look ahead. You see and sense of scene around you that somehow makes you "stop" to capture the moment.
Beautifully put. That’s exactly what I meant—the camera shifts us from just moving forward to actually being present. Walking with it in hand turns looking into seeing, and those little stops become moments of mindfulness as much as photography.
I was driving home one night after a long shift mixing sound on the local television news - my day job, this would have been about 11 pm and I saw a car crash on the opposite carriageway. Nothing unusual there but on closer inspection it was two identical red cars and one had clearly ended up on top of the other. I stopped and asked the recovery driver if he could wait ten minutes while I went home and fetched a camera. Money changed hands, he waited. When I got back I shot a selection of images and drove back into town to the newspaper offices. Having been shooting for them freelance for some time I knew the entry code and where to find the duty photographer. I told him what I had and we got the film developed and printed up in about ten minutes. Their b&w negative processing was automated, exposed film in one end, ready to print negs after about three minutes. Running the film through the enlarger we picked the best frames, printed up some 10 x 8" prints, they used Ilford multigrade, and I left him to deal with the editors. Printed in all three local newspapers! Payment was by the square inch and I am pleased to say I more than covered my £10 investment. It does pay to stop and look.
What a story, Murray! I love how your experience brings out the exact same truth I was writing about—that moment of deciding to stop. In your case, it was dramatic and newsworthy, in mine it might just be a quiet postbox on the street, but the essence is the same. Photography so often begins not with the camera, but with the choice to pause.
And your anecdote also shows how those pauses can ripple outward—what started as you simply noticing, led to images printed in three newspapers and shared with an entire community. A perfect reminder that stopping, looking, and being ready can change everything.
Thank you Tomasz, I'm just writing a post about how a chance meeting with a musician led to a photograph. It will be live tomorrow if you would like to read it. The title is The man with the saw.....
It will be Tuesday now…. The Monday Picture today is definitely worth a look.
Among many other things it is also curiosity that drives me to photograph
Yes, beautifully said. For me it’s not only about attention but also about curiosity—the camera keeps me asking questions of the world. What’s here? What happens if I look closer? What does this moment want to reveal? In that way, it’s both a prosthesis and a compass, extending attention but also directing it into places I might otherwise overlook.
In my opinion, each of us instinctively stops when we encounter something unexpected and overlooked. For example, once I had walked about San Francisco, and suddenly I saw this https://pulsepx.com/photo/nSx5vBP67xX?type=brand.
Isn't it like your postbox? Every time I look at this photo, I think about why I made it at that time, and the only answer I find is 'this is a photographer's instinct'.
Yes, exactly—it’s just like the postbox. That instinct to stop, even when we don’t know why, feels like the true photographer’s gift.
Right! Rephrasing a slogan from the past, we might say "Photographers of all countries unite!".
I wonder, sometimes, whether photography styles sit on some sort of spectrum from the Daido Moriyama type at one end (literally point and shoot indiscriminately) to the likes of Gregory Crewdson at the other (where ever aspect of the final image is constructed and controlled) and, if so, is where we sit on that spectrum a choice or an inevitability.
That’s a great way to see it, Paul. I think we each lean naturally toward one end, but curiosity lets us move along the spectrum—sometimes embracing chaos, other times seeking control.
Reminds me a lot of Camera Lucida
It’s also the urge to bring that moment home or elsewhere. You see a mail box, it makes you feel something, that feeling is strong enough to force you to capture and bring it with you. And once you’re back at your destination, you look at that image, relive that moment, and feel that same thing all over again.
You have an interesting and important thought here.
Interruptions as you describe fit well those who photograph while going about their lives. It is different for those who photograph like authors write, painters paint etc. I believe.
Nearly all of my photography is of women arranging themselves for portraits or artistic nudes, etc with a relaxed consciousness to our process. A pseudo-Dionysian meditative state ideally.
In some ways, I think of my mother's ability to float in a calm sea and how we can align ourselves in harmony with the sea's movement. We are aware of the fish, waves, seagulls etc around but find ourselves suspended at the same time.
So, perhaps there are multiple types of consciousness which enable us to connect and express that connection visually.
thank you for sharing
Tomasz, I interpret the feeling you describe as grown from the practice of photography as cultivating an awareness of the moment. You’ve trained yourself to notice such things. You manifest what Dorothea Lange noted, “The camera is an instrument that teaches people how to see without a camera.”
I love photography but it’s not without its dangers…
One of my recent articles outlines how photos may not be as accurate as you think
https://open.substack.com/pub/jordannuttall/p/historic-forged-photos?r=4f55i2&utm_medium=ios