Travel Photography; or, an Analysis of Connection

I was scrambling to get an image that might look good on your Instagram feed. An image that you may spend 4 or 5 seconds on before rubbing the genie lamp of your smartphone to see what’s in store down the line.

That wasn’t the reason we set our alarms for 5 AM but as they buzzed to life well before dawn in Caloura, Portugal on the island of Sao Miguel we begrudgingly followed suit. Jenelle, my wife, and I tossed our camera bags and a few bottles of water into our rental car and puttered off into the pre-dawn stillness up the winding mountain roads. It had been a while since we had seen a good sunrise and the Farol do Arnel lighthouse on the east end of the island seemed like the place to do it.

Over the next 90 minutes, we weaved through the mist-shrouded dirt roads and dodged the early morning bird hunters with trailers full of barking hunting dogs. As we neared Porto do Nordeste we parked in a cow pasture before walking down the impossibly steep hill toward the water. First light was just starting to illuminate the world as flocks of birds passed in droves.

When we reached the bottom of the hill—a small fishing outpost with a handful of salt-box cottages, a cement pier, and a boat ramp—the sun just began to crest above the horizon. Our mellow adventure of a morning suddenly shifted into work mode. I found myself taking and re-taking images as the light changed and the world stirred to meet the rising sun. Every click of the shutter felt new as our minutes of usable light ticked away. I was scrambling.

“The blue just doesn’t translate,” Jenelle said as she pointed over the edge of the pier.

She was scrambling too, although in a much more measured, less sweat covered, fashion than myself, and she was right. It was an ocean color I’d never seen before but, in photos, the flare of the sun subdued the cerulean glow of the water. I looked down at the iridescence and had to make a choice that I feel all photographers make at some point — if I couldn’t find a way to make it translate — was I failing my craft?

Moreover, was simply being there more valuable then sweating over how this would look on a screen. After all, a sunrise picture wouldn’t define my career but did I owe it to myself to try just a few more times? After staring at the scene for a good half-minute, I folded. Uncharacteristically placing my camera down as I sat at the edge of the pier, and simply watched.

I sat and warmed my face in the morning sun and wondered where the value of photography currently lies. An existential rabbit-hole of a thought sparked by a blue that I didn’t feel like photoshopping in. Why photograph where we travel and what we see at all?

There will inevitably be a disconnect in photography, or any art for that matter, where the viewer injects themselves or their story into the image. They may even craft a narrative all their own from scratch based on the clues therein. All in an effort to fit the photograph into their worldview. As an artist, there’s nothing you can do to stop that.

Individuals much more tenured than myself have discussed that part of creating akin to being a parent. At a certain point, it’s necessary to accept the fact that the thing you made has taken on a life all its own. Once it’s released into the world it’s simply no longer yours. Which makes the decision and intent to create all the more interesting.

I can post a photo of that sunrise and you can probably imagine what the waves sounded like or the cold cement we were sitting on felt like. You can inject the sensations of that morning into the viewing experience because you’ve probably lived something like it at one time or another. If the photograph resonates on a core nostalgic level great if not, hopefully, it makes you, the viewer, think a little.

As photographers, that’s the best we can hope for.

That then necessitates a decision of what is necessary to invoke thought. In this instance, is the crystalline blue necessary to the overall beauty of the moment I was attempting to convey?

The choice to make, and ultimately show, an image is to literally frame what you feel the world needs to see. Each click of the shutter is a window into the journey of the artist's life and the complexities of the individual behind the lens. Breadcrumbs to a life well-lived.

The beauty here is that taking images and showing work is a profound exercise in vulnerability. The irony is that the viewer brings a laundry list of personal experiences to the table that changes the message or image entirely.

If all of us are then a culmination of our experiences could photography — in a social media ravaged world — be an opportunity to connect rather than create a disposable piece of quickly consumable content?

In our day to day lives, we all make choices to determine the way we can best impact our world, and hopefully the world at large. Photography, through the bulk of this post, can easily be exchanged for any other profession. We’re all taking what we know to be true and running with it.

A baker selling a dozen doughnuts in the grand scheme has as much of a potential impact on individuals in a workday as a banker working a nine to five and digitally moving numbers across computer screens. They both have as much latent positive or negative capacity to make connections and impact lives. They’re both, consciously or otherwise, making choices to take the next best step in their day.

If you couldn’t tell already, this isn’t a post that's going to wrap up in a neatly packaged resolve. It’s an airing of thoughts from a cereal optimist who wants his life, and his chosen profession to have meaning, much like the banker, the baker, or the artist.

Maybe the reason to photograph, to capture moments and post them in a fleeting avalanche of awe-inspiring up and down swipes is to find that middle ground — where the viewer’s history and yours intersects and kinship can manifest. A long-distance relationship of sorts.

In that case, frantic scrambles to bring the viewer with you are worth it. The blue is worth finding to show what’s out there. Finding common ground and expanding one individual’s perception of what’s true, even if that one individual is the one clicking the shutter. That is worth dedicating a lifetime to.

As we began the 600ft vertical climb back to our car, however, I didn’t regret putting my camera down. Maybe the photographer and viewer need to change seats every so often. The banker and baker need to re-evaluate their impact. The blue needs to remain untranslated to inject a sense of wonder in the world we know to be true. We all need to gracefully Put the proverbial camera down, take a seat on the cold concrete, and watch the world come to life.